


Ever At Your Side

by ModernDayBard



Series: 2020 Ficlet Challenge [4]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pokemon Fusion, and before and after, because that's fun to think about, but romance isn't the focus here, each chapter goes through all three movies, each character gets a chapter, hypothetical pokemon teams, spock/uhura in her chapter, well one partner at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23051023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ModernDayBard/pseuds/ModernDayBard
Summary: Challenge to myself: write at least (1) ficlet every week for the entire year.  Remembered I had this 7-part WIP and figured, why not?In a Federation with pokemon, these strange creatures are everywhere, even aboard ship, alongside the men and women who have partnered with them. This is simply how things are, and most that have experienced it, would not have it any other way…(Hypothetical partners pokemon-AU. Each of the main seven get a chapter.)
Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura
Series: 2020 Ficlet Challenge [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598794
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Kirk

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not entirely sure where this idea came from, other than I like stories that explore which (1) pokemon that characters from other franchises would have, and how that would both fit and change canon. So, here are my thoughts on the pokemon for seven of our favorite Enterprise crew members. (Based on New Trek, as I have not yet finished watching TOS. Working on it, though.)

_Of all the planets in the Federation, one of the more unique ones was Earth, mainly due to the strange, wondrous creatures capable of and willing to bond with the humans, propelling their society swiftly forward. These ‘pokemon’ have now spread throughout the Federation, introducing many of Earth’s allies to her greatest gift, though the greatest number and variety are still found on Earth itself. The option to catch and train many in pursuit of League championships remain open, but even those who do not, usually have one partner they have bonded deeply with, that aid them throughout their lives…_

* * *

**_Beginnings:_ **

In hindsight, the bar fight would appear to be a very stupid idea.

And yet, when one considered all the good that came of it for the two of them, one could also argue that James Kirk and Esther opened the door to their best life when they threw that punch and launched that double-kick. That, of course, would leave you open to the counter argument that neither knew what would come out of that mis-matched brawl, and that neither had a better reason to fight than, at that moment, for whatever reason, they felt like it, and thus it could not be called a ‘good idea’ if all the benefits came without reason or expectation.

And of course, all that would be much more rational thought than either was capable of, in the moment.

For years, Jim would insist that the actual fight had been Cupcake’s—sorry, _Herndoff’s_ —fault: after all, the teasing/flirting with Miss No-First-Name Uhura had never crossed any lines, nor had she shown any discomfort. (Had she, he would have backed off, he’s not a _savage,_ thank you.) And she’d even told the other cadet it was nothing she couldn’t handle—she was fine, they were fine, there was no reason for the _tourist_ to get all pissy and pretend he was better than the locals just because he had a baby uniform and the chance to get onto a ship someday, if the Academy didn’t kick him out long before then. Jim was just doing the atmosphere a favor by taking him down a peg.

As the barbs threatened to turn physical, there was a flash of white light, and Jim smirked. _Right on cue—haven’t missed a fight yet._ The light faded, revealing that the Pokemon who’d released themselves was none other than—

“EEVEE!”

Stunned silence, for a moment, as the five cadets stared at the little brown furball vibrating with rage or anticipation, it was hard to tell on that little baby-face. She wasn’t scraggly—was evidently cared for—but she did look a little underfed (admittedly, so did Kirk, at that point), and while words like ‘cute,’ ‘friendly,’ and ‘lovable’ came easily to mind to describe any Eevee, ‘intimidating’ rarely did. Thus, silence was soon replaced by laughter, then Cupcake pulled out his own pokeball, releasing a—

“MACHOKE!”

Jim looked up at the taller trainer, who was smirking, waiting for the type-disadvantage and size-difference to make the local recall his fluffball and run, tail between his legs. Jim looked down at Esther, ready as ever for an unofficial, no-rules scrap, and trainer and pokemon shared a toothy grin before hurling themselves at their stunned, much-larger opponents.

Cupcake was, momentarily, taken aback that Kirk was getting as physical as his pokemon—he had expected a slightly more formal battle style once the pokemon were released—but he recovered quickly, knowing Duke should be able to take down a tiny normal-type without constant coaching, and turned his attention to pounding the blond-haired upstart into a pulp.

As eager as they were for a fight, both Jim and Esther were outmatched: Kirk was fighting five larger guys at once and had already been drinking quite a bit that evening; Esther knew only one fighting-type attack, and everything else she could throw at any of the fighting-types now menacing her would be resisted. That didn’t stop either of them from hitting and kicking, even clawing and biting, at every chance they got. And whenever one saw the other knocked down or pinned, new rage would fill them, allowing them to temporarily seize the upper hand.

Eventually, though, the disadvantages were too telling: Kirk was pinned to a tabletop, being struck repeatedly in the face, while Duke had Esther pinned under one foot and was pressing down while the smaller creature, only half-conscious, struggled to pull herself free.

A piercing whistle rent the air, freezing all still in the now-disheveled bar, and an older man barked a few orders, clearing out all the cadets, who recalled their pokemon and scrambled out of the building. Kirk pulled himself to his feet and dragged himself, stumbling, over to Esther, ignoring the newcomer for a moment as he scooped up the battered Eevee, cradling her as she nestled closer to her trainer.

Before he could even turn, the one who’d stopped the fight handed him a Super Potion and a handful of napkins. Kirk looked up to see an assessing light in the other man’s eyes, and something else that kept him from protesting when the other man asked, “Can we talk?”

* * *

**_Meetings:_ **

Aside from a few off-handed comments, the conversation did not dwell on the preceding fight, turning instead to family history Jim desperately tried to pretend he didn’t care about. Pike did pause at one moment, looking at the Eevee who showed no inclination to return to her ball at the moment.

“An Eevee, huh? Not a typical choice for someone with your record and background.”

Jim rested a hand on Esther’s head, the familiar memory springing to mind.

* * *

_He’d just been released again—he’d lost track of which time this was, by now—and had made for his favorite bar to ‘celebrate’. Mostly, he was just trying to delay going back to the dump he called ‘home’ by sheer virtue of it being the place he slept (when he wasn’t in jail)._

_As he walked—well, stumbled—along the unpaved road, he found himself wondering, yet again what the hell he was doing, and, if this was all he’d ever have or do, was there really much of a point?_

_There were days he looked back and knew with a gut-twisting certainty that, if it weren’t for what happened next, that night would have a very different ending._

_But, as it was, he missed the tell-tale rustling in the roadside grass, baked dry by the summer heat, and therefore had absolutely no preamble to being jumped by a five-pound, filthy and generally pathetic creature screaming furious death at him. Kirk hit the ground (hey, he was drunk—he wasn’t going to have the best of balance), but he did manage to catch his assailant and keep it an arm’s length away from his face, though the sharp little claws were making mincemeat of his arms._

_“Hey—hey! Stop that!”_

_“EEVEE!”_

_It took quite a few second looks to confirm the call: this pokemon was half-starved, her fur had none of the fluff or shine associated with her species, and she seemed to have a few scars of fights with other wild pokemon. In all, she looked as washed-up as he’d just been feeling._

_“Cut that out, I’m trying to help you!”_

_That froze them both, human and pokemon wondering if what he’d just said was, in fact, true. Kirk recovered first, deciding to make it true, and started picking burs out of the stringy fur of her neck ruff, trying to be as gentle as his lack of sobriety would allow and muttering (hopefully) soothing nonsense as he did so._

_Eventually, the creature stopped squirming and grew mostly still, allowing Kirk to feel her trembling. Instinctively, despite the warmth of the evening, he drew her closer, his first thought being she was cold. It wasn’t until after she nuzzled up to him and stopped shaking that he realized he’d somehow acquired a pokemon without any intention of ever doing so, really._

_And who could say which one had caught which?_

* * *

Jim looked back up at Pike, shrugging nonchalantly. “I wasn’t the one who did the choosing.”

With that, the subject was left behind and the conversation moved on to the offer that Jim struggled to understand, much less accept, little realizing just how much things were about to change for him and for Esther.

In hindsight, the fight may have been a stupid idea, but it was still one of the best things to happen to them.

* * *

**_(2009)_ **

Sacrificing their warp cores may have saved the ship from the black hole that swallowed the future Romulans, but it meant that what remained of the _Enterprise_ crew and the Vulcan population had to limp back to Earth on nothing but impulse power, a journey that took minutes during battle now taking them two of the ships simulated day-night cycles.

In many ways, most of her crew felt like the _Enterprise_ : adrenaline now fading as they realized the danger was, truly, behind them, and left with barely energy left at all to perform the crucial tasks to get them all home.

Kirk knew he’d be in for the mother of all crashes when he finally let himself, but he was still fighting it off: with Pike still unconscious, sleeping off whatever he’d been put through, and Spock still deferring to him, now (which was taking more getting used to than he thought it would), the young cadet was forced to keep the role of captain he’d assumed, which meant (in his mind) being everywhere and helping everyone, or at least being a steady presence on the bridge—however unsteady he himself felt.

But Bones was having none of it, dragging Kirk off the bridge 36 hours after Nero had been conquered. Kirk balked when he saw the hypo spray in the doctor’s hand. “Bones, don’t—”

“Quit whining, you infant, it’s for your own good. We’ll get you to your room and…” the CMO trailed off, suddenly realizing what his friend’s protest had been—for once, not about the medicine.

“I don’t have one,” Kirk said, anyway. “All unassigned rooms have been given to the Vulcan refugees, and they need them.”

Well, there was the captain’s—no, Pike was there. Bones saw his friend smirk grimly in perceived triumph, and he tightened his grip on the younger man’s arm before he could slip away. Decision made abruptly, he steered him into one of the small lounges that still smelled of new furniture. There hadn’t been much time for breaking it in on this maiden voyage.

Well, no time like the present.

Bones forced Kirk to sit on one of the couches that faced the view-screen opening like a window on the vastness of space they now sailed through. He left the lights off, trusting tone would convey to the other cadet how serious he was without the aid of a visible facial expression. “I’m not enough of a fool to assume you’ll sleep. But sit here and rest for at least eight hours—Spock can keep things running for at least that long, and if he can’t, I’ll come get you myself.”

Jim still looked about to protest, so Bones played his last card, tossing the Pokeball he’d pulled off the younger man on the way there back into his lap. Sure enough, Esther appeared, looking a little disheveled after their latest adventures, but, having been fully treated after returning with Kirk and Pike from Nero’s ships, she was no longer injured, at least. She looked between both men, plainly confused, and Bones addressed the little Eevee directly.

“Make him stay. Eight hours. He needs the rest—and it wouldn’t hurt you, either.”

“Eev! Eev!” she chirped in unmistakable understanding before leaning up against her trainer’s chest and nestling against him. Instinctively, Kirk wrapped an arm around her and began stroking her back.

Satisfied his patient wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while, Bones slipped out and left the two alone.

As predicted, as soon as he stopped moving, overwhelming exhaustion crashed over Jim, and the only thing keeping him from sleeping was worry about what the future would hold. He’d started this misadventure as a stowaway defying academic suspension, had somehow been elevated to first officer in a highly questionable (at least, from official viewpoint) manner with few witnesses, then become captain in a way that was separated from mutiny by technicality, and that only thinly. He’d done so on the word of a time traveler from a future that never will be, now, which already he could tell would be a piss-poor defense if he was placed on trial, even if time paradoxes would allow him to bring it up. Now that Pike was back on board, he was once again in the limbo of not really having a place, but being expected to do quite a bit. Who knew what the next twenty-four hours would bring?

They could kick him out of Starfleet, and while he’d once balked at the very thought of the organization that had gotten his father killed, now the thought of living the rest of his life without it would be like losing Esther forever.

At the thought of his partner, Jim looked down at the now-sleeping furball still curled up against him. They’d been through so much together, and had both grown so much in the last three years as they fought the uphill battle to graduate early despite the disregard of their peers. Esther was ridiculed as much by the command-track cadets as by Herndoff and his buddies over on the Security track, as most future officers tended towards electric-, rock-, ice-, or (in the case of the overly-pretentious) dragon-type pokemon, not normal. And definitely not one of the ‘cute, pet’ types.

But time and again, Kirk and Esther together had seized the last laugh as their own, and the Eevee had proven herself many times over, especially on this mission as she helped Kirk battle Romulans on the drill and Nero’s ships, despite remaining unevolved.

They would have to defy expectations again, now, if they wanted to stay with Starfleet, but if their track record showed anything, it was that they could beat almost anything as a team.

_And hey, if I do have to beg, having her Baby-Doll Eyes backing me up might not be a bad idea…_

* * *

**_(Into the Dark)_ **

“You’d be dead before you made the climb!”

Scotty’s voice was taut with the desperation to make his young captain hear him, to listen. And Jim did, but the undeniable knowledge that if no one manually fixed the warp core, they were all dead was louder, still. One life or all of them? It was hardly a choice—so long as it was only one.

A swift turn, a well-aimed punch, and the engineer was down before he realized what had crossed the younger man’s mind. “That’s why you won’t be making the climb,” Kirk muttered aloud, praying that Scotty’s pokemon would understand that this wasn’t the attack that it looked like. Though it was debatable how much any pokemon understood human speech vs. tone and body language, the steel-type aided Kirk in moving its trainer to the emergency seat and buckling the straps that, admittedly, would do very little if the worse happened.

Kirk stood, still trying to brace himself to do the last stupid thing he ever would. But before that, one more life to spare: he unclipped the one pokeball from his belt and carefully set it in the engineer’s lap. A half-dozen parting lines ran through his mind in that instant, but he bit back all of them, afraid Esther would somehow sense his intent and emerge to follow him to the one place he couldn’t allow her to come.

Turning on his heel, he entered the warp core and sealed the door behind him.

* * *

By the time Jim (somehow) dragged him back to the antechamber of the warp core, Scotty had woken up and Esther had either been released or released herself—as she sometimes still did. The young captain slumped against the door, feeling the last moments of his life slipping away, and watched as his partner kept throwing herself at the barrier separating them, mouth open in a cry he couldn’t hear.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he mumbled, feeling the tears starting. “But there was no point in both of us dying here…”

Suddenly, Scotty crossed into view, picking up the frantic Eevee as Spock all but ran up to the antechamber, kneeling in front of the pathetic form of his captain. An instant later, there was the still-strange sensation of his first officer’s psychic-type opening up a mind-to-mind connection, allowing the two to converse despite the still-sealed door.

_“…Because you are my friend.”_

Their hands on the glass, overlapping the Vulcan salute (that Kirk had joked so much about being unable to force his fingers to make), time running thin—Kirk could feel it. Esther had somehow wormed her way out of Scotty’s grasp and back in front of her trainer, between the door and the kneeling Vulcan, but her early desperate fight was now replaced with full-body tremors as she seemed to sense what was coming as well as the two men did.

_“Look after her for me, Spock.”_

Though never spoken aloud, they were Jim Kirk’s last words, and as all life left the young captain and his first officer stood, drowning grief with rage, Esther curled up against the door, as near to her trainer as she could, her whimpers lost in Spock’s roar.

* * *

As soon as the chamber was decontaminated from the radiation and it was safe to do so, Bones and his team gently retrieved the battered body of their young captain.

On seeing him move, Esther gathered herself for a leap, landing right on her trainer’s chest, where she again curled up and refused to budge for the entire trip down to medical, or even after he was laid on one of the empty beds. The little Eevee had often stayed with Kirk in medical (when he could be forced down there), but from the way she buried her face, ears tipped down, and from her pathetic whimpers, it was clear that she knew this time was different—this time, he was gone.

Bones had to turn away from the sight, sitting at his nearby table, head in hands. How could Captain I’ll-bounce-back-from-things-that-would-destroy-any-sane-man Kirk just be—gone? If any man was invincible, the doctor would’ve put his money on Jim Kirk, but the invincible man had just died. It was all so wrong…

“Chrrr?”

* * *

When they moved Kirk to cryo to buy them time to retrieve some of Khan’s blood and prep the serum, Esther again fought being separated from Jim, and it was Bones who sacrificed his arms to her sharp little claws, holding her as she struggled and cried. “We’re going to bring him back, girl. I can’t live with myself if we don’t. Don’t you let him get away—you drag him back here if you have to. He always comes back for you.”

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but it did seem to the CMO like Esther understood his stream of half-whispered attempted comfort and lessened her struggles, if only a bit.

Now, he just had to keep his promise.

* * *

In the weeks it took for Kirk to respond to the unorthodox treatment, Esther never left his side. She was barely eating and lacked all of her normal energy, simply remaining nestled against her comatose trainer. Of course, it made sense, given current circumstances, and truth be told, mother-henning over the Eevee in the meantime (in an admittedly similar way to how he often had been forced to hound Kirk himself) gave Bones something tangible and fixable to focus on during the interminable waiting period.

And when Kirk at last awoke, rather than jumping up on the still-weak captain, Esther simply adjusted her position on his lap as he sat up, taking in his location and Bones’ summary of events. She then leaned back against his chest, face tipped up to his, clearly content.

Bones paused his speech, looking at her, before admitting in a quiet voice, “We almost lost her, too. She rallied after it was clear you were coming back, but at first—she was fading.”

 _Fading_.

It wasn’t an unheard-of idea among people who bonded to pokemon, but it was a sobering one, to be sure. In short, it was the idea that an otherwise-healthy pokemon simply refused to outlive its trainer and, having lost all will to live, died usually less than a week after them.

Kirk swallowed hard, pulling Esther a little closer, and Bones marveled to himself yet again that the younger man seemed surprised by how much he meant to those around him. Maybe this time, the lesson would stick.

“So, the next time you go gallivanting off into some near-death scrape or other, remember that she’s following you wherever you go. You better always come back to us.”

Kirk nodded once, still apparently not trusting his voice, but so long as he was starting to accept that he did, in fact, belong in this world, and in this corner of it in particular, then Bones was content.

* * *

**_(Beyond)_ **

As the burning wreck of the fool’s ship loomed over her, ready to fall, Kalara’s body was paralyzed, but her mind was racing.

_How?_

She could accept that even a directionless fool like Kirk could’ve grown paranoid after his ship was attacked, and it had been so long since she’d actually cared about a crew that she supposed it was _possible_ some point of her act may have rung less than true for the so-called ‘captain’. But _how_ had been able to communicate that distrust, and the plan he based off of it, to his younger crewman right in front of her? What code word—what small gesture—had she been so blind to?

_How had Kirk tipped the other man off?_

She died without the simple answer: he hadn’t.

* * *

Had Jim pursued some sort of battle-based career, chasing championships, perhaps aiming to be a gym leader, he would’ve remained reliant on verbal commands for his pokemon. But oftentimes, on the ship, on strange planets, and even on one Starbase or another, the best tool was surprise, and, like every trainer in Starfleet, Kirk and Esther had worked out what amounted to their own, non-verbal language.

Not to mention, a pokemon can tell when their trainer distrusts someone, however well they may disguise it from others.

Now, there is debate among scientists and trainers alike regarding how and how well one pokemon can communicate with another. No one would call pokemon ‘mere animals’, but the idea they might be sentient enough to have a language all pokemon can understand is an unsettling one, to some.

But whether such a language exists, or pokemon can more easily read each other through gesture and tone, the fact remains that they _can_ communicate, and thus Esther was able to pass the simple idea along to Chekov’s electric type: _Be on guard. Enemy at hand._

To the young navigator’s credit, when he picked up Kostya’s unease and vigilance, he didn’t question it. Perhaps he saw it in Esther as well, but whether he truly knew it was a message from Kirk, or whether he simply trusted the instincts of both pokemon, when he saw Kalara slip after Kirk down the deserted, broken corridor, he followed, phaser in hand, at the ready.

* * *

There’d been a time when Kalara, Krall, and their crew would’ve been much less likely to underestimate the bond between trainer and pokemon. They’d fought in the war, after all, and each had their own partner, once.

But, in desperation to survive, in a period where no hapless victims were pulled beyond the nebula, they’d done the unthinkable, and thrown their once-partners to the ancients’ machine, sacrificing their pokemon and relinquishing their final shreds of humanity.

Perhaps that was why their hatred for Starfleet and its ideals of peace and cooperation only grew as the centuries went on: they had tasted it, once, and found it sweet. But after what they had done, they could bear it no more, and thus they told themselves pokemon were ‘useless creatures’ and those who bonded to them were ‘sentimental weaklings’.

Cruelty became strength; desperation became validation; and hypocrisy became their undoing.

* * *

**_New Beginnings:_ **

The year it had taken the _Enterprise_ to be rebuilt from scratch was one of the longest in Kirk’s life, much less career, but at last, she was ready to fly again, and Kirk resumed his place on the bridge, Esther, as always, by his side. Most of the crew also returned from their temporary assignments to take up familiar mantles, though a few had been given chances to grow, promotions and reassignments, and the young captain urged them to take them, to explore their new unknown.

Still, most of the core crew remained, and though only a year ago Kirk had yearned for reassignment to a Starbase, now he knew he’d never be whole anywhere other than on _his_ ship. He’d lived a year in the life he thought he wanted, and nearly went mad from the boredom. Never again would he take this chance for granted—he knew where he belonged, now.

All these thoughts and more wove in and out of his mind as he strolled through darkened corridors of the _Enterprise_ one night-cycle in the first week of her second maiden voyage. He’d often taken such walks, even before, Esther trotting at his side in companionable silence. It was part time to think, part keeping an eye on his ship, and part chance to enjoy a few, rare, moments of peace and quiet.

Yet, even then, he’d never felt so…content, for lack of a better word, on those walks. This time, he knew, with every fiber of his being, that he was home.

“Ee. Vee.”

As the two soft chirps, Kirk looked down at his faithful partner. She’d stopped in place, staring straight ahead, uncharacteristically still. Then she looked up at him, and Kirk swore her near-permanent smile (characteristic of her species) was a little different: something calmer, but excitement still danced in her eyes. He knelt next to her, knowing instinctively what was coming.

He’d often been asked, especially in the academy, why he didn’t simply buy an evolution stone or take Esther to one of the many known Mossy or Icy Rocks and evolve her beyond her base state. Sometimes he’d fire back some quip or other, but when he answered honestly, he replied that he didn’t like the idea of forcing Esther into a new form of his own choosing, rather than hers. From that, most assumed then that he was aiming for one of the friendship- or affection-based evolutions, and it was undeniably apparent how close a bond Kirk and Esther shared. Yet for all that, the little Eevee never showed any signs of changing. No one could really say why, least of all the two themselves, but those who knew them best theorized that there was a hesitancy or indecision deep-seated in one or both of them that prevented the evolution—perhaps even a fear of what such a change would mean for their dynamic.

Whatever the truth had been, it was clearly no longer the case. The little normal type began to glow, and the glow began to pulse, dim then bright, with increasing frequency. Instinctively, Kirk put his hand into the light, rested it on the neck ruff as he had so many times before. He felt his partner changing under his hand, subtle shifts to the skeletal structure, even a slight change of height as she grew marginally taller, and the neck ruff grew shorter, vanishing into a single, smooth, short-haired coat silky to the touch.

When he could see Esther again, her brown coat had darkened to the blackness of space, ringed with the gold of his uniform; her dark brown eyes now glowing like a red giant star. Her face had grown solemn, but not unhappy: more stable, grounded, mature.

“Bree.”

Kirk took in the Umbreon before him, smiling softly. “Guess it was time, eh, girl?”

“Bree.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation on my thought process (Will have one at the end of each chapter):  
> Kirk was actually the hardest one for me to settle on. I had worked out the types (I wanted everybody to have a different type) and even individual pokemon for the other six—Spock, Bones, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, and Chekov—before I even knew what type I wanted to give Kirk. In the end, I decided to go with the Normal type mostly because the captain has to balance out all of the various teams and strengths aboard his ship, but also because Kirk was living an ‘ordinary’ life before recruitment by Starfleet, and I wanted his partner to be one more thing that made everyone underestimate him, at the start.  
> I really didn’t want to go the overdone Eevee route, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense: the idea is that Kirk has to have a base knowledge of all the things going on all over the Enterprise, and a huge part of his arc over the three New Trek movies is figuring out who he wants to be, what he wants to do, and where. Of all the normal types, only an Eevee captures both that potential and that question, as well as setting up Kirk as having an unusual partner for his career path.


	2. Spock

**_Beginnings:_ **

_“Was it to satisfy your emotional need to rebel?”_

It was well that he had sought out solitude after his meeting with the elders, the heads of the Vulcan Science Academy—it was now taking every technique he had ever learned for suppressing his human emotions to prevent an illogical, childish outburst.

It seemed his course was set now: to Earth and Starfleet Academy. Starfleet, at least, had expressed no reservations, qualifications, or hesitation upon his acceptance, informing the potential cadet that, with scores and a record such as his, the options to either teach or seek an officer’s position upon ship would be open to him after he graduated, and he had at least his first few years in the academy to decide.

Almost of its own accord, his hand drifted to his pokeball, releasing its occupant with a light flick of his wrist.

“Kadabra?”

The half- Vulcan looked at T’Kay, his partner of many years, with a level gaze, and chose to speak aloud, rather than reach for the psychic connection he knew she was ready to open. “We will be joining Starfleet. The next transport leaves in eight days. As we are perfectly capable of being ready in said time, I see no reason to delay our journey even longer.” As he finished, he resisted the urge to look around for any observers, knowing full well he and his Kadabra were alone. Most Vulcans, if they had any pokemon at all, preferred the psychic type, and almost never addressed their partner aloud, seeking instead the psychic connection that eliminated any possibility of misunderstanding and served to tie the partners closer together. But he had often found that speaking to T’Kay aloud, particularly after he had come to some sort of decision, had its benefits.

 _Emotional benefits?_ A disapproving voice in the back of his mind asked—his own, not his partner’s. T’Kay was one of two individuals Spock had ever known that never expressed contempt for how he carried himself or when he slipped. Now, she stood beside him in contented silence, a calming presence that helped him focus even further. _That_ was one of the benefits of speaking to her, of giving his thoughts voice: once laid out, organized, plans could be made, steps taken. The logical progression could proceed. He could focus, get himself back under control on those occasions where circumstances rocked his grip.

“And perhaps, if I am not Vulcan enough for the Science Academy, I may yet be for Starfleet.” He reprimanded himself for the words as soon as they were spoken, as they only served to lend credence to the High Elder’s accusation, but T’Kay, the only one who heard him, merely stayed with him, expressing no remonstration whatsoever.

It was well he had sought out this solitude.

* * *

**_Meetings:_ **

It was not surprising that Amanda had found out about the fight at school—neither Spock nor his father could lie, if pressed (though they both did their best to omit certain details of the bullies’ choice of taunts), and the boy’s bruises would not fade in a few hours’ time. At first, she had offered what comfort she could, trying to be a calming presence for her young, confused son even as she also sought to demonstrate that emotions were nothing to shun, be ashamed of.

It was clear that her actions, though, were only increasing the turmoil within her son, and though it pained her, she kept her silence for the next few weeks.

* * *

“Mother?”

“I have something for you, Spock. I think it’s about time—most boys and girls your age are getting their first partner, and I wasn’t much older when I chose Rosemary,” Amanda began, with a nod towards the house, where the elderly Meganium slept, content.

The young half-Vulcan looked down at the red-and-white ball his mother pressed into his hand, trying to decide what creature it contained. Had his mother chosen a grass type for him, like she had? He hoped not—as much as Rosemary had always been a part of family life, she was one of the few grass-types on Vulcan, that type having struggled to adjust to certain non-earth planets. Having one of his own would only make him stranger.

Silently, he gave the pokeball a light toss, staring at the small, yellow pokemon that appeared before him, seemingly asleep. It was an Abra—one of the most common choices for a Vulcan’s partner, as it was one of the best-known and -respected psychic types, the preferred type of their people. He’d have the same kind of pokemon as more than half of his classmates…

…he would be a little more like them, at least.

Spock looked to his mother, and saw her nodding, with a small smile. She said nothing, but for a moment, the boy had the illogical thought that she knew exactly what he had been thinking. Aloud, Amanda only asked, “Do you know what you want to name her?”

Spock gave the inquiry careful consideration. He knew from his mother that some humans gave their pokemon names that a person would have, others more like those given to a non-pokemon pet. Vulcans, he knew, almost exclusively gave their pokemon ‘normal’—person—names. Which would he do?

“T’Kay. I will give her the name T’Kay.”

Amanda laid a gentle hand on her son’s arm. “I think that is a very good name.” She watched as Spock’s eye suddenly widened, staring at his new partner. The pokemon apparently slumbered on, but Amanda knew T’Kay was not as unresponsive as she seemed.

“She is in my mind,” the child breathed out in something that a human would call a wondered whispered.

Amanda nodded. “She is opening a psychic bond so you can communicate with her. It will only grow stronger as the two of you grow together. I will give you some time to get to know each other.” She stood, turning towards the house, but glancing over her shoulder to the pair in the garden. Her son and his pokemon were oblivious to her, exploring the tenuous connection already forming between them.

From what she had heard, Vulcan children sometimes struggled to open the psychic bond with their partner at the very start, and though she would never tell him, Amanda thought she knew why Spock had faced no such struggle, mere moments after accepting T’Kay.

Perhaps, having one of the most ‘Vulcan’ pokemon (an assertion she always found somewhat comical, since all Pokemon originated on Earth before having been introduced to the rest of the Federation) would not help her son fit in more with his classmates, but at the very least, he would not be as alone.

When she could not be there for him, T’Kay now could.

* * *

**_(2009)_ **

As he had done throughout his life on Vulcan, Spock sought out solitude. On a ship this size, as crowded as the _Enterprise_ was with the achingly few survivors of his race, it would not— _could_ not—last, but the instinct to put distance between himself and especially those who witnessed his outburst drove him away from well-traversed hallways after relinquishing his command.

He only stopped when he realized he was in one of the transporter rooms— _the_ transporter room—and then he found he could go no further. He stood there a few moments, then, as he usually did when retreating from some sort of shame, he released T’Kay.

The Kadabra was uninjured, but still had traces of Vulcan’s dust on her from when she had joined her trainer’s frantic efforts to save the Vulcan Council of the Elders, though neither of them had done it for the sake of the Council, which would have been the logical thing to do. T’Kay’s ears tipped slightly, head tilted downward, and though many would have struggled to detect a difference from the Kadabra’s normally-unreadable bearing, Spock didn’t need their unspoken bond to realize that T’Kay blamed herself as much as he did himself, the psychic-type having attempted, in those final moments, to hold Amanda in place as the rock gave way, but even the Kadabra’s impressive telekinetic abilities were no match for the violence wrought by the still-forming black hole.

“They were forces beyond our control,” he managed in a hoarse voice, reaching out to lay a hand on her head; physical contact was not often used in training pokemon on Vulcan, but since coming to earth, Spock had noted that nearly every species of pokemon appreciated some form of physical touch from their trainer, as well as hearing their trainer’s spoken voice. It was the one area Spock had willingly, if hesitantly (and only in private), chosen to forego the Vulcan way for the human way. Pokemon, like humans, were emotional creatures—even those that did not look it.

_And so, it seems, are you._

He saw T’Kay’s ears perk at a noise, swiveling to the other door. When Spock looked up, he saw his father standing there, staring at the two. He nearly withdrew his hand, but felt T’Kay push herself closer to it and held it in place for her, instead offering his father the only explanation he could: “I am conflicted as I was as a child.”

Sarek did not speak at first, but he took a few steps closer, at least. He had words to say, truths to impart he had never spoken to his son before, and he would; but for now, as he chose his next words carefully, he let himself watch Spock and T’Kay. They likely did not know it, but they had one of the closest bonds between a Vulcan and Pokemon their ages. Perhaps T’Kay’s ability to psychically communicate with words was not as great, but understanding? That, they had.

And he knew where it came from, having seen the later stages of such a bond between Amanda and Rosemary. He knew where it might lead, too: as long as they did live, most Pokemon died before their trainers did, and he remembered well the pain Amanda had gone through only a few years before when the elderly Meganium simply had not woken up one morning. Yet, as she always had, Amanda had insisted that it was better to have loved her partner and had a life with her, even if it meant this pain, than to never have felt anything for her at all.

Now, on this side of losing Amanda, he was beginning to understand. And if he could, he needed to make Spock understand, as well.

* * *

**_(Into Darkness)_ **

Rage.

Of all the human emotions Vulcans disparaged, rage was the one most cautioned against, the one blamed for most terrible and illogical acts. It was one he had struggled with when taunted as a child…

…it was filling him, now.

As Spock burst onto the bridge, barking at Sulu to scan the crashed vessel for signs of life, most around him were taken aback, startled he was doing so little to hide his internal state. Behind him, T’Kay hovered, to most appearing as calm and unchanged as ever.

Uhura, though, knew both too well for that. There was a tension to the psychic type that belied her meditative resting stance, her ears, however slightly, were tipped back, and her species’ normally-piercing gaze had a sharper edge to it. Even if T’Kay herself was not furious, Spock’s rage was spilling out into his partner via their bond—presumably unknowingly, but in that moment, there was no time to ask.

“…it may be possible to beam you down, sir.”

At Chekov’s words, Spock turned to her, and she saw it in his eyes: the desperate need to go, to do something, even if it couldn’t fix what had already been done. That didn’t surprise her, what surprised her was his moment of hesitation, like he was seeking her permission, or blessing; for a moment, she wondered if he would stay, should she ask him to. But the question was dismissed with the knowledge that Khan needed to be stopped, and the one best able to face him was standing beside her.

And she didn’t really feel like stopping him, anyway.

“Go get him.”

Spock ran from the bridge as quickly as he’d entered it, T’Kay following swiftly but (deceptively) evenly behind him.

* * *

_There._

Almost as soon as the thought had crossed into Spock’s mind from his partner, he had spotted Khan some ways away. All three sprang into motion simultaneously, a foot chase that no human could hope to keep pace with begun, and the same thought pounded in both Vulcan and Kadabra minds:

_We will not let him escape._

Khan darted into a building, driving straight through a glass-pane doorway. T’Kay’s telekinetic blast seized the shards and drew them together, away from herself, her trainer, and the bystanders, pulling them to the ground and letting them lay, for the moment, harmless.

Spock paid no heed, the absolute roar of fire being all he heard, vision tinted red, the only clear sight his quarry before him. Even the psychic bond with T’Kay was the faintest echo in the periphery of his mind, barely detectable in the all-consuming hatred.

Back outside, down one street, across another, then Khan took a flying leap off a bridge onto a transporter. There, he paused to look back at the half-Vulcan in pursuit, something like a triumphant sneer across his face.

The transporter lifted off, unaware of its passenger, and without a break in stride, Spock leapt for it, not even feeling the boost from T’Kay that got him just high enough to grasp hold, clawing his way up from underneath the hovering vehicle as it began to move.

Just as he crested the height, Khan jogged to him, knocking the phaser from his grip with a single, viscous kick, before lifting him bodily and slamming him down upon the rig.

_Get up._

He was on his feet in a moment, even before cognitively processing his partner’s warning, whirling to face Khan as he came. The two men swung at each other as the transporter flew on beneath them. One fist connected, and another, T’Kay hovering on the periphery, trying to find opening to either telekinetically seize hold of Khan’s physical form and slow or stop him, or else psychically attack him and hold him on that level.

She managed a time or two, but never for more than the barest heartbeat. There was almost no thought on that vehicle, only anger and hatred, the desire to cause pain. It was throwing off the Kadabra’s normally enviable control of herself and her abilities, hampering her ability to help and leaving her desperate, her own control slipping as her trainer’s and partner’s was long gone.

Spock dug his fingers into the nerve cluster at the back of Khan’s neck, reveling in the scream of agony the self-proclaimed superman could not hold back. But a moment later, Khan managed the unthinkable: retaining enough clarity to reach up, break the hold, and nearly crush the half-Vulcan’s hand as the fight continued.

That surprise, that distraction, cost Spock dearly, and he found himself being choked by Khan in an odd reverse of one of his early fights with Kirk.

_Jim._

But Khan had other methods of fighting, of killing he preferred, and once again, he threw his opponent against the metal surface, and Spock was slow to rise, pain and adrenaline doing battle, normally-clear mind muddled with his own emotions, with T’Kay’s increasing franticness, and with the barest overflow of Khan’s own cruelty, so loud in the other man’s mind that T’Kay could not help but pick it up, unknowingly passing it down her bond with her trainer.

Khan was on him before he regained his feet, seized Spock’s head in both hands, and, as he had with the admiral earlier that day, began to push, exerting far more force than any human would ever be able to muster, much less withstand.

But Spock wasn’t fully human, either, and his Vulcan blood gave him more than just strength and resilience: reaching out to the other man’s face, Spock opened just enough of a connection that Khan felt the exact same physical sensation as he did.

Sure enough, Khan faltered, though retained enough of his fighting drive to slam Spock’s head into his knee and drop the Starfleet officer to the ground before staggering away, to the edge of the transporter.

T’Kay hovered nearer, outwardly unchanged, but urging her trainer through their bond to get up. Spock did sit up, just in time to see Khan look back once, before plummeting off of their ‘ride’. Recalling traffic patterns of major cities, it was a half-second’s calculation of risk and timing before Spock was racing to the front of the vehicle and throw himself off of it, hanging in free-fall for a single moment before landing on the new transporter.

The momentum nearly sent him tumbling off immediately, but his own determination and T’Kay’s telekinetic assistance allowed him to keep a hold and clamber up, then Khan was waiting, delivering a viscous kick to his midsection, sending him tumbling dangerously close to the edge.

But instead of throwing him off, Khan pinned him down and began raining blow after blow onto the half-Vulcan’s face, slamming the back of his head repeatedly into unforgiving metal. T’Kay moved in to physically intervene, but Khan knocked her away with hardly a glance, sending her spinning, slamming into one of the upright sides of the transporter, nearly causing her to fall. He then grabbed Spock by his collar, throwing him bodily towards the opposite end of the transporter, kicking him in the face, in the chest, pushing him along the entire length.

Once again, he went to crush his opponent’s skull, and this time, with T’Kay still struggling to recover from her daze (psychic types may be powerful, but physical damage can rattle them greatly), and with his own pain and exhaustion sapping his force of will, Spock could not retaliate, could not break it.

He was going to die.

There was a light, the sound of a transporter, and Khan jerked on top of him, hit by something from behind. The super-man released his hold, whirling with an inhuman snarl as both he and Spock saw Uhura at once.

She fired twice more as Khan charged her, and her own partner beside her lashed out, twin water blasts striking nearly at the same time as the phaser blasts, but all four doing little actual damage to Khan.

Spock sat up, saw T’Kay right herself at the other end, just past Uhura and Utengo, and knew they could not win this fight unarmed. Seizing a jutting piece of metal beside him, Spock pried it off the transporter, striking Khan across the head with it just as the other man had reached Uhura and her pokemon.

From there the tide of battle turned, and Spock broke the other man’s arm over his shoulder, not even hearing Uhura call out his name over the sheer dark pleasure of hearing Khan scream. Now, _he_ was the one throwing his opponent to the ground, _he_ was the one raining crushing blow after blow onto the helpless man’s face, _he_ was the one—

_“—he’s our only chance to save Kirk!”_

The shout, from Uhura’s mouth and mind as T’Kay manage to link the two in order to help reach her trainer, to break him from his mindless stupor of rage and violence, finally stopped him, partially because of the message, of the sheer, unexpected, illogical _hope_ it tried to give him, but deeper than that, the _fear_ in the tone, from both of them, T’Kay and Uhura.

Fear of him, of what he had done and could become when he lost all control.

Fear as they both saw just how human he could be.

He met her eyes, and this time she was the one pleading for _him_. He looked down at Khan, actually dazed and reeling from the onslaught, then over to T’Kay as his partner hovered closer. An unspoken order passed between the partners, and T’Kay’s eyes flashed as Khan’s closed: unconscious from the psychic blast, but breathing, still.

Spock turned away, catching his breath, unwilling to face the others until some modicum of control returned, but he felt Uhura’s hand on his back, felt her reach out through T’Kay, gentle again, her instinctive fear of that display now gone…

…he wished he could say the same.

* * *

**_Changes:_ **

It was rare that Spock got the chance to interact face-to-face with his older, alternate self as the two each pursued their own paths on the enterprise and on New Vulcan. Additionally, the two were cautious in their exploration of this unprecedented dynamic between them, Spock Prime clearly desiring to impart the wisdom of his own life and experience without dictating what actions the other man should take in his own. Still, there was effort on both of their parts to maintain some form of contact, however they could.

Yet in-person meetings were rare, and, with the _Enterprise_ set to embark on her five-year, deep-space mission, were unlikely to be possible for quite a while. So, both men took advantage of what was likely their last opportunity for a long time yet.

Spock Prime, far more comfortable with himself than his younger self, felt seemingly no shame in expressing what to most would seem like mild, subtle excitement and anticipation for all that Spock would see and experience on this mission—he did not say, but the younger Vulcan inferred that most of Spock Prime’s own bond with _his_ crewmates, captain, had been formed, forged, on the alternate version of this very mission.

As ever, specifics were left well enough alone over the course of the afternoon, but finally, there was one that Spock could no longer keep from asking: “When did you evolve T’Kay Prime?” _And how? Who did you ask?_

The older Vulcan turned to elderly Alakazam floating beside him before gently resting a hand on her head—the gesture a familiar enough ritual, even to the younger pair across from them. “It takes quite the display of trust, the vulnerability of seeking another’s aid in sch an endeavor—to ask them to receive and then render again so vital a part of yourself. Do you not have someone you can trust in this way?”

One face flashed to his mind as soon as the question was asked—another followed not even an instant behind, then a third—and others that he already trusted with his life, perhaps even with this, though on that he was admittedly a little less than certain.

“Rather the opposite, come to think of it.”

If he didn’t know better, he’d have said that the older Vulcan’s approval was mingled with something warmer…fonder…

“Good, good.”

* * *

It’d been a long road to recovery for Kirk, but given that he had been _literally dead_ , any recovery at all was a miracle, so he had tried to be patient. And now he was finally up, about, cleared to return to duty, ready to take command of an unprecedented mission, and faced with the odd request of ‘aid with a personal matter’ from his first officer.

Kirk’s mind was racing, replaying all of his most recent interactions with Uhura, and trying to enter ‘relationship advice’ mode while mentally preparing for the headache of talking a Vulcan through emotional matters (Spock was gaining more understanding in that area, true, but ingrained habits don’t vanish for wishing it), when he noticed the pokeball in Spock’s half-extended hand. Oh.

_Oh._

“You’re sure, Spock?”

“There is no reason not to, and the benefits of T’Kay being fully evolved before embarking on our mission cannot be overstated.”

The implications of what he’d said—and not said—were not lost on Kirk. Of course he was willing to do this—he was honored to have been asked—but he wanted all parties involved to be in agreement. “And T’Kay understands what’s about to happen?”

“And the reasons for it,” Spock affirmed with a nod.

“Alright then.”

Kirk unclipped Esther’s pokeball from his belt—felt a tremor inside as his partner seemed to grasp the situation, to agree—levelly meeting Spock’s gaze. “A trade goes both ways,” he explained, and waited for the other man’s startled hesitation to fade before reaching out again.

When it came to the trade itself, there was no pause, no second thoughts from either man, only complete faith in the other’s intentions and character.

For a moment, there was an almost anti-climatic lull where nothing seemed to happen. Then T’Kay emerged, a light already pulsing and flashing around her. Esther also released herself, but merely sat quietly, watching as the other pokemon evolved into her third and final stage.

Her gold tone darkened a shade or two, her tail vanished as her brown ‘armor’ expanded, but for all the physical changes (less drastic than some evolutions, perhaps, but nonetheless noticeable immediately) she maintained her seemingly calm and undisturbed manner—though those present, familiar with the (now) Alakazam, saw the excited tremors, the gleam in her eyes of wonder and anticipation for what this change would bring about.

For his part, Kirk found himself watching T’Kay’s trainer for the most part, until he looked away from the—for once—unguarded expression of his Vulcan first officer before Spock caught him staring. Still, the memory was one he would hold onto, for the times when he was tempted to forget just how human the other man could truly be, deep down.

Both men recalled the pokemon, and the trade back felt neither weighty with importance nor like a release of unvoiced fears—here, on the other side of it, it was an undeniable inevitability: the way it was, because it was the way it always would have been. (Regardless of timeline or universe.)

Kirk slipped quietly away shortly after—giving Spock and T’Kay some time to themselves, to figure out what this change would mean for themselves, for their partner, and their bond.

_This? This is just the beginning._

* * *

**_(Beyond)_ **

The piece of jagged metal had been removed, the wound had been (rudimentarily) cauterized, but the pain was still overwhelming, nearly unbearable. It was taking all of Spock’s not-inconsiderable amount of focus to push it far enough back in his mind to keep moving along with Dr. McCoy. They had to keep moving—staying still meant staying exposed, meant being found—so he did what he could, fighting with every step and breath to stay _present,_ to stay _aware_.

_“I can help. Let me help.”_

It should have worried him that he didn’t recall releasing T’Kay—she’d been in her ball during the crash, as there had barely been room for himself, McCoy, and the attacker in the small vessel—but he found he didn’t really have the physical or mental energy to be concerned about that for the moment.

_“You are blocking me out. Let me help.”_

Verbal communication via the psychic link had taken getting used to, T’Kay learning to put words to what had been impressions and feelings for so long, and Spock adjusting to her voice and to addressing her psychically as often as he did verbally. Now, though, it was second nature—but he didn’t dare, now, afraid of what else might bleed through if he opened the link even a modicum wider. “That would not be wise, T’Kay,” (McCoy was glancing sidelong at him, but made no comment, at least) “you would have to share—”

_“Your pain, I know. I can help. I want to help.”_

“It is not necessary, T’Kay.”

* * *

For a few brief moments, the tantalizing mysteries of the strange structure they ducked into, and its possible connection to the ancient artifact that was apparently at the root of all that was happening, distracted Spock from his injury and his own rapidly-deteriorating state, allowing him an instant of pain-free clarity.

It didn’t last.

In fact, he’d been distracted enough to lower his mental guard a fraction, enough that, when the twisting _wrenching_ pain returned, he was no longer actively pushing it away or blocking it out, and it hit him full-force. He had no defense, no way to stop the guttural cry from tearing itself out of his throat, no way to keep his legs from buckling. Only a quick reaction from T’Kay, reaching out with her telekinetic abilities, kept his head from striking the unforgiving stone floor, and even the psychic-type could not prevent her partner from losing consciousness briefly.

Bones was only marginally slower than the Alakazam—then again, _he_ wasn’t psychically bonded to the Vulcan, so he responded _quite_ quickly, thank you very much—in reaching the fallen officer, examining the injury before trying to move the other man, and, once he’d determined it was safe to do so, attempting to get Spock over to and propped against a wall of the strange structure.

Through it all, T’Kay hovered just to one side of her fallen partner, and while early in their acquaintance Bones would’ve described the pokemon (and her trainer) as ‘utterly unflappable,’ the only word he could now use to describe her manner was ‘frantic’. It was subtle—downward cast of her ears, eyes darting to Spock, around the room, and back, her hand-like forepaws clenching and releasing as she began to reach out, to retract back—but obvious, if one was familiar enough with her usual mannerism (after almost three years aboard ship together, he had _better_ be), and went to show, a part of the doctor’s mind managed to note, that neither of the pair were quite as emotionless as the masks they wore.

And when someone they’d let themselves care for was in danger, that mask was quickly shed.

* * *

When Spock came to again, dazed and unfocused from blood loss—as he told McCoy of the ambassador’s death and his own thoughts surrounding—he noted the pain was greatly lessened, far more so than it ought to have been, even with his mental state fuzzy and unfocused from the hemorrhage, though not fully gone. But at the moment, he was too disoriented to realize why, or to sense the increased presence of T’Kay in his mind, or even to see the way the Alakazam was now tensed against the stabbing agony of a wound she had not suffered.

(If Dr. McCoy had noticed or knew, he didn’t say a word.)

It was only later, after the two men had been so unexpectedly rescued, pulled aboard the _Franklin_ , after McCoy had done what he could to stop the bleeding with the derelict ship’s ancient technology, that the fragmentary remains of the _Enterprise_ crew gathered themselves to try to formulate a plan, that Spock realized exactly _how_ T’Kay had helped to keep him awake and moving in those moments when staying still was sentencing himself to an agonizing, slow death—and knew first-hand what doing so would’ve put his partner through.

Even so—even now—she hovered close, ears turned towards him, eyes on his, and psychic bond active, ready. He reached for her and she leaned into the touch, the only comfort he could offer—they had rudimentary medicine for Pokemon, Starfleet having been comprised of trainers and their partners, even from the start—but T’Kay had not been injured herself, and there was nothing done to her a potion or otherwise could heal. She needed rest, and calm, and quiet, time to simply _be_ with her bonded partner (and he with her, he was honest enough to admit).

But there was no time for either to rest, to discuss or recover any more than they already had: there was a crew to rescue, then an enemy ship to commandeer, then a station to save, and as reluctant as Spock was to brink T’Kay into his pain (which was still present, though lessened), he knew he could not do what he had to without her.

She pressed against his hand, as if sensing where his thoughts had gone (of course she did), and even before the words came, he felt through their bond her pressing _need_ to see these things done as well—to protect him, yes, but to save the crew (to find Uhura), to protect the innocents on _Yorktown_ base. Yes, he could not do this without her hep, but—

_“You do not have to. We are partners; this is our bond.”_

…

Anyone who claimed that the _Enterprise’s_ first officer and his partner lacked any sort of heart between the two of them had never bothered to truly know them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation on my thought process:  
> So, there was NO doubt in my mind that Spock would have a psychic-type (one of the main reasons that Esther didn’t evolve into an Espeon in the last chapter—I wanted everyone to have a unique type for greater variety’s sake), and my first instinct was the Abra line. I did browse through other types, in case something else jumped out, but nothing else felt right—I knew I wanted it to be a very ‘Vulcan’ pokemon, in-universe, and Abra/Kadabra/Alakazam are practically the poster children for the type, so it just all made sense in my mind (even if only there).  
> And I wanted his partner to be ‘stereotypically Vulcan’ to play into Spock’s story line of learning to balance the two parts of himself, and those around him learning to see that, as subtle as he may be at times, he DOES feel and he DOES care. Not to mention, I thought having a trade-based final evolution could also serve to demonstrate how far he'd come in trusting the people around him.  
> Anyhow, since I’m jumping between fandoms week-to-week, there might not be updates here for a while, but this story WILL be finished before the end of the year—that’s a promise. (I just have a lot of different stories I’m trying to give some love to at the same time.)


	3. Bones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Back again with another one of these! I’m sorry it’s been a few months, but this is actually part of a challenge to myself of posting a fanfic a week for an entire year, and I keep hopping between fandoms (all stories can be found in the collection this story is a part of—for those interested in Critical Role, MCU, and PJO/Kane Chronicles/Magnus Chase stories), so while it will take a few months and there may be extended gaps between updates, I WILL finish this story, I promise!

**_Beginnings:_ **

To the unprepared (and/or uninformed), the first visit to the _Enterprise’s_ medbay certainly left a… _distinct_ impression. Not simply because of Dr. McCoy’s well-earned reputation as the most reluctant spacefarer to ever volunteer for Star Fleet Academy, not ever because of his aura of authority that left absolutely _no_ doubt that this was _his_ domain, and it would be run _his_ way. (Tyrannical-sounding, perhaps, but no one could deny the near-miracles that were accomplished under his watchful eye.)

No, it wasn’t just ‘Bones’ that caught so many off-guard upon their first encounter, it was the permanently-snarling, pink-furred pokemon that was never far from her trainer and looked to be always a heartbeat away from pulverizing someone at a moment’s notice—McCoy’s partner pokemon: Princess, the Granbull.

It was certainly interesting to watch the two snap and snarl and bark their way through hectic stretches in the medbay they had staked out as their territory, or else grumble and growl their way through a mercifully quiet and slow spell. And while it was often joked (behind their backs, of course) that the pair of them were the clearest example on board of trainer and pokemon growing to resemble each other, there were more than a few who wondered, upon first meeting the strange pair, just what either of them was doing onboard a Starfleet Starship.

* * *

**_Meetings:_ **

Dr. Leonard McCoy was not the sort of man to have a partner pokemon—once upon a time, at least. Which wasn’t to say that he was adamantly against the concept in general or that he disliked the strange but loyal creatures; quite the opposite, in fact: though not often on display, the doctor’s soft spot for pokemon was rivaled by only the one he had for children. Still, he hadn’t had a partner since childhood for a variety of reasons—he’d never had (taken) the time to seek one out, he questioned how sanitary it would be to have one in his work space, and besides, he spent so much time at work that it wouldn’t really be fair to the little critter—right?

But fate (and family) had other plans for the good doctor.

The clumsily-wrapped present had been about the right size to be a tie box, and Joanna was about the age to start in on that ‘Daddy gets a tie for Christmas’ tradition that was still strangely prevalent, so that’s what he’d been expecting when he saw it. But for some reason (perhaps her mother pointed out that Leonard rarely ever wore ties), his little girl had gone an entirely different route. (And what had her mother been _thinking?_ )

All this flew through his mind as he stared down at the red-and-white pokeball nestled in the tissue paper, then up to his daughter’s ecstatic, gap-toothed grin. “I fond you the perfect partner, Daddy!”

Still stunned but nevertheless determined to not disappoint his little girl, McCoy pulled out the pokeball and released its occupant.

“Snub. BULL!”

It’s _very_ pink, **_very_** grouchy occupant.

No, Dr. Leonard McCoy was not the sort of man to have a partner pokemon. But even more so, he was _not_ the sort of man who could stomach letting his little girl down.

* * *

**_(2009)_ **

As the man in the seat beside him ranted about the deadly dangers of space travel, or grumbled about a messy divorce that’d left Starfleet as his only option, Kirk found his attention divided between this Dr. McCoy and the Granbull growling, snuffling, and _glaring_ at their feet.

Fairy type fit the medical field, Jim had to admit—though the Snubbull/Granbull line was not among the ones typically associated with doctors and nurses, even then. And likewise, the trainer seemed as snappish and surly as his pokemon—hardly the calm, calming man of medicine one envisioned (or, at least, hoped for).

And yet…

…and yet, when the shuttle jolted and jostled its way through liftoff and McCoy tensed, the pink critter leaned against his leg, the grunts and breathy ‘woofs’ losing their aggressive edge and becoming something—if not gentle, then at least non-threatening. Without even looking down, McCoy lay a hand on top of his partner’s head, stroking her fur with hands that gradually steadied.

And yet…

…and yet, as the brief ride wound on and Leonard relaxed (however marginally), Jim noticed his hand briefly vanish inside his jacket, then re-emerge and slip down to the creature at his feet, whatever treat he’d retrieved vanishing too quickly to see, and the younger man had to smile—his own pockets, carrying some of Esther’s favorite treats, and the action a familiar, almost-instinctive one to both men, apparently.

When McCoy offered him another drink from the flask, Kirk accepted it with a smile, his mind made up.

“Thanks, Bones.”

* * *

**_(Into the Dark)_ **

What could be more useless than a doctor in a dead man’s room?

Kirk’s…corpse (the word didn’t even make sense in the same _sentence_ as the young captain who’d seemed so invincible, not long ago) had been removed from the chamber he’d died in and reverently, carefully transferred to the medbay, despite it being far too late already. Esther was curled up on the too-still, too-cold chest, and she wasn’t even whimpering anymore.

_We’re going to lose both of them. Damn that Khan!_

Princess, for her part, was growing more frantic and active, even as despair sapped his strength and left him collapsing numbly into a nearby chair. She fussed and barked in a series of quiet grunts at the other pokemon, and, when that failed to elicit any sort of response, she closed her eyes, concentrating, until gentle beams of moonlight washed over the Eevee, ready to heal any injury, cure any disease—

Of course, nothing changed.

“I’m sorry girl, but there’s nothing we can do for them.”

The glare that Princess leveled at him at those words was deeper, angrier, than her ordinary, near-permanent scowl, but after years of working together, he saw behind it the same grief mingled with panic that he felt every time he realized that a patient was about to slip beyond his help, or was already too far gone.

Numbly, feeling—if anything—a little sick, Bones reached a hand towards his partner, instinctively ready to offer a comfort that he didn’t feel himself, when something moved on the table behind him.

“Chrrrrr.”

****

Things happened quickly after the tribble revived: the rest of the events a frantic blur of cryo tubes, capturing a superman, drawing blood, and desperately synthesizing a miracle.

Once the formula had been administered to Kirk, leaving him comatose but blessedly _alive,_ the rest of the _Enterprise_ crew settled in to wait, cycling through something like watch shifts as close as the medical staff would allow them. Still, there was nothing left for them to actually _do_.

For Bones and Princess, though, it was another matter altogether.

A comatose patient is not, in fact, an easy or simple one—if you want them to wake up in anything near a healthy state, to say nothing of Starfleet’s standards for its officers (Kirk was going to have a lengthy recovery period after he woke up if he ever wanted back on his beloved ship—and that was as a pointless an ‘if’ as Bones had ever heard, of course Kirk would)—so Bones poured himself into a million and one little things to do to care for Kirk until he came to.

Otherwise, Dr. McCoy found himself joining in Princess’ efforts: keeping a still-weak and despondent Esther alive (especially making sure that she ate; there were days that Princess was forced to nearly bully the smaller pokemon into forcing down enough food to stay alive).

It wouldn’t do for Jim to wake up only find that his partner had faded without him.

No, neither of the pair was an ‘easy’ patient, but neither caregiver was about to give up on them, either.

* * *

**_Ordinary Days:_ **

Dr. Leonard McCoy may have been a reluctant space traveler, but her had _no_ sympathy for reluctant patients—if you were injured, you _would_ come to the medbay; if you were due for an exam or check in, you _would_ be there, if Bones had to drag you there himself.

(Although, actually, _he_ was rarely the one doing the dragging.)

****

It’d been a routine enough scientific mission: nothing more exciting than a few new botanical varieties (which a handful of the _Enterprise’s_ science officers would huffily insist was _plenty_ exciting, thank you very much), and even the security team had—miraculously—remained predominately uninjured, except, as the report Bones had been given noted, for one young ensign who’d managed to receive a minor laceration from an unexpectedly bladed leaf-edge moments before being exposed to a spore cloud from a nearby mushroom-like piece of vegetation.

The entire away team had gone through decontamination procedures upon their return, of course, but protocol required that the Ensign report to Medical so that it could be noted and logged that any reaction to the exposure of a potential toxin to his bloodstream had been nullified.

Well, he was certainly taking his sweet time to report in.

(“Damn fool was probably trying to show off to a yeoman and tripped or something. Well, I don’t give a rat’s ass about your dignity, I need to do my job before I finish my shift!”)

Several corridors away, there was an aggressive, snapping bark, a startled yelp and the sound of half-running footsteps nearly drowning out padded paw-steps just behind. Moments later, the security ensign in question was being seen to, a snarling Princess glaring as she hovered between him and the door, all but daring him to bolt.

Wisely, he did not.

****

Far and away, the most frequent recipient of Princess’s take on ‘tough love’ was none other than Captain James T. Kirk himself.

(But, hey: at least they _were_ getting him to Medical, now. The Granbull proved tough for even Jim to evade, and there was _no_ outlasting her stubborn determination.)

But Princess wasn’t simply skilled at getting and keeping their patients in any more than she was simply there to treat the injured partners of the various crew members, she was also excellent at keeping out anyone who didn’t need to be there—heaven help _any_ one who tried to defy Bones’ ‘absolutely _**no**_ intrusions’ policy when patients were resting.

If your situation truly was an emergency that required the attention of a seriously-injured man in desperate need of rest _right at that very moment_ (and it usually wasn’t—most were matters that could be handled by a different ranking officer), then it was your job to convince the snarling Granbull of just how important it was that you disturb her patient.

Good. luck.

* * *

**_(Beyond)_ **

He’d almost taken it for granted the way that Spock had followed him off of the Bridge during the attack, shadowed him in the corridor, and kept an eye on the surroundings while he focused on the fallen crew members, pulled him out of the line of fire into the (temporary and ultimately debatable) safety of the turbo lift. After so many away missions, after more than three years on a deep space assignment, McCoy had grown accustomed to the First Officer’s attempts to keep him (and any others) safe when shit—inevitably—hit the fan (one could make some sort of disparaging comment about how well that had worked out for the two this time, but they _had_ miraculously survived their fall into space in a disconnected turbo lift and their crash to the strange planet in one of the alien’s vessels, so maybe not)…

But _this_ time—

How much pain did Spock have to be in—to say nothing of the very real, _very_ immediate threat of imminent death—to voice it aloud? Even as he attempted to speak normally, there was no missing the breaks and tension in his voice as the Vulcan attempted to remain calm _while impaled with a piece of scrap metal!_

(Of course, Bones was not a squeamish man—he couldn’t afford to be, in his line of work—but there was a _reason_ he was a doctor, not a solider. There was a _reason_ that, even as a child, even knowing how quickly and thoroughly a pokemon’s injuries could be healed, the idea of training a pokemon for battle had never sat well with him.)

Still, he was a doctor, and medbay or no—equipment or no—there were things he could do to save a damn life! He went to work, maintaining his deceptively casual ‘doctor tone’, focused almost entirely on his patient.

(He did see, from the corner of his eye, Princess prowling around the area, sniffing the air, scanning and snuffling and growling as she patrolled—no one would interfere with her partner’s work on _her_ watch.

****

Moving meant possibly aggravating Spock’s already-dangerous injury, staying still meant possibly being seen and subsequently caught, or facing an unknown length of time with no real shelter. Bones see-sawed between the two options even as he split his attention between monitoring Spock’s state (bad and getting worse) and worrying about the condition of their missing crew (uncertain but almost certainly bad). Eventually, it was Spock’s collapse that put an (at least, temporary) end to his internal debate—thankfully _after_ they’d found a little cover.

McCoy managed to get the other man propped against the wall, seething internally that there was _nothing_ else he could do—even to make the other man comfortable, much less keep him alive.

And that was when Princess stepped in.

Before Spock even came to (which, thankfully, was not long after he first blacked out), the Granbull squeezed herself between the two men, curled against the Vulcan’s side and offering the First Officer a comfort he did not, perhaps could not, seek from another person: physical touch.

Spock’s own partner, T’Kay, settled on his other side, also leaning against her injured trainer, and McCoy noticed the brief flare in the Alakazam’s eyes before her body tensed against a pain that was not her own. He’d heard Spock muttering to his partner earlier, could infer that this as what he’d asked T’Kay not to do, but the doctor did not interfere—even has he again felt helpless to spare the pair their current agony.

A soft ‘woof’ drew McCoy’s gaze down to his own partner in time to see a gentle wave of moonlight wash out form her to the Vulcan and the Alakazam—useless, perhaps, to the physical injury, as Princess’ ability was limited to healing other Pokemon, but Bones had learned, (even first-hand) that it _could_ provide at least temporary relief from pain.

(Throughout the rest of the day—until their unexpected rescue—Princess would keep up her efforts: spread out enough to make her energy last for a little while, but granting at least the little relief that she could.)

There was a _reason_ that the little Snubbull had been rejected by her first few trainers before Joanna had picked her out for the good doctor; there was a _reason_ she’d been deemed to have a personality ‘unfit for battle training’.)

****

The sick sense of calm born from reluctant resignation vanished the instant that Bones was able to process that they were on a (derelict) Starfleet ship with actual (ancient) medical equipment. So, circumstances weren’t ideal—hell, they so rarely were, he wasn’t sure he’d know how to operate under ‘ideal circumstances’ anymore!

Both CMO and Granbull leapt into a flurry of activity that the others present could barely follow—much less understand—becoming a one- (well, technically two-) person medbay and actually managing to get Spock up on his feet in a little over an hour. (Admittedly a little unsteadily, but hey: who wants to criticize a miracle?)

Of course, the way that Spock kept pushing—kept talking of joining the away team in Chekov’s place, kept pacing around during the ‘joint brainstorming’ session—the rough patch job that they’d managed was going to be sorely tested, very soon.

(And, from the look in Princess’ eye as she glared at their oblivious patient, Bones did _not_ envy the other man when _that_ happened.)

****

Finally— _finally_ —the whole ordeal was over: the crew rescued, the station saved, the injured taken to an _actual_ facility with _functioning_ equipment (even Jim, without any of his usual protests, and Bones made a mental note to check in with the young captain about that later); and McCoy allowed himself a chance to breathe.

Of course, that was the moment that Spock decided that he had the medical expertise to deem himself fit enough to leave and so and do whatever the hell he thought was more important than resting and healing properly.

He didn’t make it very far.

Dr. McCoy barely looked up at the sound of an impact and fall, but he still made out the pink-furred form of his partner pinning their reluctant patient to the floor after her surprise tackle. “As often as we got through this with Jim, I’d have thought you’d be expecting that,” he quipped as he helped Spock up and back to his designated bed. “That report can wait.”

(In fact, he knew that Spock was more than capable of composing and sending off official reports from medbay—it’s happened from time to time, it probably already had _this_ time—but he feigned ignorance to the Vulcan's true motive even as he mentally composed a message to Uhura to get her to come down there and talk with her poor (ex-? who knew) boyfriend as soon as the brass got done asking her their millions of useless questions.)

Princess took up her watch again, glaring from captain to first officer, waiting for either to make another attempt.

****

Yes, there was a _reason_ —despite appearances, despite the grumbles, growls, snaps, and barks, even despite the snarls and complaints—that the two of them were on this path they’d chosen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation on my thought process:
> 
> Medicine/Healing fields always link pretty quickly to the fairy type, in my mind (the only other type that links maybe as much is grass, and a grass type in space just didn’t feel right); moreover, the moment ‘Bones’ and ‘Fairy Type’ came together in my mind, the duality implied just made sense—It’s been said before that BONES is Spock’s opposite in the logic-emotion debate, with Kirk in the middle, but he has appearances to keep up, as well. And once I focused on that duality, the Snubbull/Granbull line was the obvious choice (With bonus points for ‘why on earth does McCoy have a bubble-gum pink partner pokemon’).


	4. Uhura

**_Beginnings:_ **

Long-term, deep-space missions, it turns out, are long stretches of routine bordering on monotony, interspersed very occasionally with the strangest—and often most dangerous—of exceptions. But despite the long stretches of ‘it-was-a-normal-day-see-previous-recordings’ sorts of log entries and confined quarters aboard ship, it was still somehow remarkably different for Lt. Uhura and Commander Spock to align their off-duty time with any consistency.

(The downside of an over-achiever dating a workaholic, Nyota mused more than once.)

Still, they _did_ make the effort, and when they managed to pull it off, they made the most of the time that they had—which was why Uhura was now desperately trying to ignore the rivulets of not-sweat trickling down her back as she joined Spock in his meditation.

With their minds so close, Uhura knew that he would feel the flicker of her distractions, and so tried to stay present—to no avail. As soon as she’d noticed the physical sensation, there was no going back to the moment. The prankster had won this round.

With a silent apology to her boyfriend (who she knew was aware of the situation and finding his own meditation disrupted) she pulled away from the link that Spock and T’Kay had opened, opening her eyes and whirling on the ‘stealth master’ behind her. “I warned you that you’d get bored—I said that you could stay in my room or in your ball. You couldn’t have waited just a few more moments to ask for attention?”

Whatever expression the pokemon behind her bore at the moment was obscured behind the ‘scarf’ that covered everything below is eyes (the ‘scarf’ being, in fact, his tongue, a fact that seemed to throw most people when they learned and/or remembered that fact), but Uhura had been with her partner for so long that she could read the mischievous grin, hidden though it was. Utengo had no shame, at times.

The communications officer continued to glare at her partner Greninja, but she couldn’t help noticing how off the water-type looked in the room set to mimic the dry-heat of Vulcan for its occupant. This time, when she held out the pokeball in invitation, her partner did not sulk, pout, or refuse.

He did, however, lob one last ball of water into the air before he was recalled, which burst and showered the two trainers and other pokemon.

“To be fair, that _is_ a way of showing he likes you,” Uhura offered to Spock.

“I am…aware,” the half-Vulcan intoned calmly. He, too, was used to certain…antics…of the pokemon in question. “Though, by that metric, one could argue that he likes quite a few aboard the _Enterprise_ —if not most.”

She sighed, but couldn’t fully hold back a smile, either. “Unfortunately, he does.”

* * *

**_Meetings:_ **

It’d been so many years ago—she was still a teenager still home, Starfleet Academy still a distant someday she was pursuing with all the force of her already-legendary determination. Language was already her passion, xenolinguistics the field she already had her eyes set on, and she’d already mastered three languages with another two not far behind.

But starship assignments were still a long way off, and prodigy though Nyota was, she knew there was still so much about the world—about herself—to be discovered, to be decided. And there was time for all of that.

Today, though, the only choice that mattered was which pokemon she’d be leaving with: who would be her partner in the years and decades to come. She had some ideas—being her, she’d done her research and done it _thoroughly_ —but unusually enough for her, she hadn’t come with a set plan.

Which was good, because the little blue frog blinking up at her was not common in that part of Earth, so she hadn’t originally considered it. She knew of the Froakie line, of course, knew the final evolution was prized by stunt performers, security officials, daredevils, and some in less-than-savory occupations. Additionally, water-types were not uncommon in Starfleet, especially since some experts (and ‘experts’) liked to claim that trainers that gravitated towards that type were more likely to be cool, rational, and quickly adaptable.

Personally, she thought that was ridiculous—even if the type-to-trainer-personality theory had any actual basis (which she was not convinced of), the young girl privately thought that the water-type lent itself just as easily to impetuosity, storm-like fury, stubbornness undaunted by any obstacle, and even to…

She saw it, in the little Froakie’s eyes, behind what most saw as the wide-eyed perpetually-worried expression of the line’s first stage; and he saw it in her, too, in the dark brown eyes of the girl regarding him thoughtfully, one praised for her intelligence and drive and thought mature beyond her years by those who never took the time to look close enough to see—

—the twin sparks of mischief, the mark of the schemer, the prankster. They’d get where they wanted to go, no question, but they’d reach it on their own, if unexpected, way.

(Not to mention, _certain_ traits of his final evolution seemed like to good a joke for the future communications officer to pass up.)

She’d get questions in the days, months, even years to follow about what obscure language or dialect she’d turned to for Utengo’s name. “English, if you look at it right,” was the answer—and the joke—that so few seemed to get.

 _Seriously? It’s not that hard a scramble…right?_)

* * *

**_(2009)_ **

So much and so little had changed in the intervening years: Uhura and Utengo had grown up—the Frogadier that’d entered Starfleet academy at her side having evolved at last into a Greninja early in her (their) final year—and both had found, through trial and error, that it was when the other cadets, the professors, and the officers saw them as the mature, calm, rational, and adaptive water-type and -trainer they wanted to see that they were taken seriously, accepted.

So the twin sparks of mischief were dampened—though not doused—and set aside for the moment in favor of finding and excelling in (if not exceeding) in the expected paths for a Xenolinguist and her partner, learning the rules and expectations, what grey areas were and weren’t safe, observing the Academy staff politics to see who actually had clout, and how they’d gotten it. Uhura told herself that it was easier this way—there was no need to break new ground constantly if a sure path already existed.

Water will follow the channels dug for it, after all.

****

Kirk likely thought that her reluctance to ‘crew’ his third attempt at the Kobayashi-Maru was due to purely personal reasons (namely her unconcealed dislike for his brash attitude—which, admittedly, did contribute a little). He therefore probably wondered why she agreed to do so anyway.

(Career-wise, there were some bridges it did _not_ do to burn, personal personality issues aside, and perhaps the most annoying thing about James T. Kirk’s flippant, arrogant persona was that he _had_ the skills and smarts to back it up—his career would definitely be fast-tracked if he managed to avoid pissing off the very people inclined to do so.)

In truth, it was the test itself that she despised even more—Academy rumor mill being what it was, every cadet _knew_ it was an unwinnable scenario going in. And Academy students being who _they_ were, nearly to a person, they went in believing that they could be the one person to spot the loophole that would win it anyway.

To date, Kirk was the only one who’d tried more than once.

In her run, as the situation had spiraled quickly, Uhura _knew_ there was no salvaging it: she truly was just supposed to show composure in the face of certain death and silence the voice screaming in the back of her skull that if she was _clever_ she could _fix_ it (or at least leave a ‘parting message’ to the creator of the simulation).

Turns out she really chafed against that whole lose/die-with-dignity crap.

Still, if she couldn’t _win_ the scenario, she could at least _pass_ the test and fight back the urge to…fight back. Utengo, however, was less inclined to take the situation calmly (there was a debate about how well a pokemon could tell the difference between a simulation and reality, Uhura leaning on the they-know-its-real-but-hate-to-lose side of it, at least as far as her own partner was concerned). Jumping from one console to another, reluctantly returning every time she called him back to her—would they fail her on that? Claim that she couldn’t control her partner, or that his reaction revealed her own fear and desperation?

Fortunately, she noticed that he was preparing a water shuriken while eyeing one of the larger computers and was able to disguise recalling him to his pokeball as going through the act of ‘I don’t want my partner to have to see their death coming’—well within ‘acceptable’ reactions in one’s final moments, apparently. Utengo had been out of sorts for _days_ afterward, clearly convinced that he’d seen the solution—simply stop the simulation—and had been thwarted before he could enact it.

If she had to go through this again, he was _staying_ in his pokeball the whole time.

****

As Kirk lounged in captain’s chair, the program seemingly having rewritten itself to the smug bastard’s whims, Uhura glared, struck by the irrational sensation that Kirk’s triumph made a mockery of her own internal conflict and ultimate choice to follow the test as intended. There was a strange rush of pride, as well—the apparent solution being essentially the same one that her partner had come to on his first attempt: if you weren’t allowed to _win_ the game, then you had to _beat_ the game.

After all, a river can just as easily carve out its own new path.

* * *

**_(Into the Dark)_ **

When the dust settled, when all that they could do had been done, when Khan had been re-frozen and Kirk lay comatose and too-still but _not_ _dead_ by nothing short of a miracle, Uhura knew where she could find Spock.

Dr. McCoy may not have liked having the _Enterprise’s_ first officer ‘underfoot’, but he also understood the protective urge to be near a friend, even if there was nothing you could do, as well as how much the other man _needed_ him not to say as much. So, he grumbled his cursory, customary complaints, but did not kick the commander out, and didn’t bat an eye when Uhura joined him not long after.

They didn’t talk at first, but sat in companionable silence beside each other and their partners. T’Kay hovered, eyes roaming the room, face as impassive as if her earlier display of rage—her own and Spock’s—had never occurred. Utengo crouched on the floor, eyes uncharacteristically downcast, the sight of his usual partner-in-trouble Esther so deflated and listless apparently sapping his typical penchant for mischief so much that he couldn’t even bring himself to antagonize Princess, one of his favorite targets.

Finally, though, Uhura needed to hear something other than the medical equipment, needed to think of something other than how close they had come to losing Kirk (how close they still were, a treacherous voice in the back of her mind hissed, even as she tried desperately to ignore it).

“How did you think of it, Spock? Tricking him with the empty torpedoes?”

Perhaps not the best choice of conversation topic to keep their minds off of current circumstances, and for a moment she was afraid that it would push Spock further into his own head, rather than draw him out.

He stared at her for a silent moment before speaking in an even tone. “I merely did my best to emulate the tactics of those close to me. The ones that seemed situationally appropriate, of course.”

Right. Hadn’t he and Kirk said as much—that each had done what the other would do in their place? (which brought to mind the image of _Spock_ dying of radiation, locked behind glass she could not reach through; worse than the volcano because she could see but she was still helpless to—)

“I am surprised you did not recognize the ploy; I hardly altered the core at all,” Spock continued, cutting off her racing thoughts as he indicated her partner pokemon with a nod.

Uhura followed his gaze, and as she looked to Utengo, she suddenly remembered, realized.

Her impish partner had a habit that’d become a game between the two of them: pretending to be recalled to his pokeball, then trying to shadow her unseen, to see if she’d been fooled and would try to ‘release him’ at a later moment (if so, he’d leap out of hiding a heartbeat later—the game was only a game, but he’d never leave his partner in the lurch). For her part, Uhura would keep alert for signs that he’d pulled his trick and call for him to come out of hiding instead of using the pokeball when she did notice.

One trickster tried to out-trick the other, and the Vulcan observing their little game _remembered_.

* * *

**_(Beyond)_ **

The crew of the _Enterprise_ had been swiftly subdued—weapons and pokeballs wrenched from their grasp by the swarm of machines that apparently comprised most of the attacking force that’d crippled their ship, then they were roughly herded into a too-cramped holding cell of some strange, dark metal.

Uhura was honestly surprised that the enemy commander had tossed her in with the others; she half-expected he’d either ‘make an example’ of her, or else keep her close to him, maybe ‘make a point’ to her by showing her something about this place (something useful, she’d hoped…but not at the moment, at least…)

Still, she could _do_ something from here, too—she was sure. For one, she could do a scan, see which officers were unaccounted for, which crew members (of those she could recognize, and she felt a pang of guilt knowing it wasn’t close to all) were present, alive.

The Security team seemed to have taken the hardest hit (as usual), but almost _more_ worrying were conspicuously absent faces: Chekov, Scotty, Bones, Spock, and Kirk.

She could see panic in so many of the faces around her, especially the younger and newer crewmembers, and it took only a shared glance with Sulu (the now-ranking officer present, and she could _see_ that responsibility settle onto his shoulders—settle and steady, refusing to crack) for understanding to pass between the two of them. They moved through the rest, whispering reassurances that those who had managed not to be captured were coming, that there were things _they_ could do here and now. As they moved, they kept looking around, noting guard patterns, which crewmembers were holding resolve better, which were injured, and what could be done for them.

Once they had a clearer picture of what they were working with, there’d be time for action; for now, it was time to calm the waters.

****

Eventually, though, time came to act.

The plan was simple enough: Uhura and Sulu would slip out, thanks to Keenser’s corrosive cold, and scout the situation: was there a ship capable of carrying the whole crew _and_ navigating the nebula that they could commandeer (and Sulu could figure out how to fly?) without one, there was no point in a mass-breakout that had nowhere to go.

Very quickly, it became clear that no such ship was anywhere nearby, so they instead tried to locate where the crew’s partner pokemon were being held, as, once any kind of escape _was_ put into motion, retrieving them would _have_ to be a priority.

And, finally, they had to get a message to Starfleet (they may have assured the others that Kirk was, at that very moment, coming up with a brilliant rescue plan, but Uhura was too much of a pragmatist to rely fully on her faith in the absent officers, and Sulu was not taking any chances with either the crew that now looked to him, or with his family waiting for him).

The time had come to find the cracks in the dam—the points that would cave to pressure first.

* * *

**_Ordinary Days:_ **

Ever so slowly…ever so carefully…Utengo crept across the ceiling of Spock’s quarters, working his way directly above the meditating couple and the hovering Alakazam. It was just a matter of getting into place without being noticed—

_I would not recommend that next panel as a foothold: it creaks. Though I suppose that doesn’t matter now, does it?_

T’Kay eyed the Greninja smugly, but the voice in the telepathic link had been her trainer’s. Utengo gave a small huff of disappointment before dropping form his perch to land beside the Vulcan as both trainers opened their eyes—smirking at him.

They’d managed to _trick_ him.

He trilled the merry tone that was his laugh—a well-known sound on the _Enterprise_ , by that point—feeling no reservations about laughing at _himself._ The fun of the game was when other played it, after all.

“The ship would certainly be a strangely quiet place without your partner’s ‘taste’ in humor, Nyota.”

Uhura turned to her boyfriend, having caught the odd quirk in his tone. “Spock, was that a bit of word play?”

In private, he didn’t deny it. “Continuing on the theme you set with his name.”

Uhura couldn’t help grinning at that: in all the years since she’d jumbled the letters of ‘tongue’ until she got something resembling a name, not a single person seemed to have gotten the joke—

—except for the ‘humorless’ Vulcan, so what was the punchline now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation on my thought process:
> 
> So, I have to admit…I gave Uhura the water type solely so that I could give the gifted Xenolinguist and communications officer a Greninja…because of its tongue. But, in playing around with stereotypes of water-type and water-based power sets, I found that I liked the result: my impression of Uhura in the new movies is someone who is determined and focused on her goals, not necessarily a rebel like Kirk, but willing to bend or break rules if the situation calls for it. And as such, I think she comes across as far more serious than she perhaps is, hence the hidden-jokester part of this exploration. I may have picked this pairing on a whim, but I like what resulted.
> 
> And again, thank you to everyone who is reading this for your patience at the long span between updates—I will be finishing this before the end of the year, I promise, and in fact, the next chapter will be out in exactly a week; so see you then for a certain engineer’s chapter!


	5. Scotty

**_Beginnings:_ **

The day had been trying, confusing, _exhausting_ , and long (when had he last _slept_? Before his academic hearing about that stupid simulation?), and Kirk was going on sheer willpower alone by this point—and that strained by the loss of Vulcan, meeting this guy who claimed to be Spock from the future/another world, and—

Well, just about everting at this point, to be perfectly honest.

He wasn’t sure why it was the flying sword that was getting to him the most after everything that had happened. After all, there was no mistaking the Doublade for anything other than the Steel/Ghost-type pokemon that it was. But the over-tired, over-wrought cadet found himself unable to tear his eyes away as the metallic specter hovered, swung itself in strange gestures and _rang_ (for lack of a better word) in emphasis of the rambling tirade of the man who had to be its trainer.

Kirk spared a moment to glance at the older Vulcan beside him (which he still couldn’t bring himself to think of as Spock) and found that the other man and the elderly Alakazam hovering beside him were eyeing the pair in front of them with an expression of what could only be called ‘fond amusement’.

“Montgomery Scott…and Casper.”

“Aye, unless you know of any other wrongfully stranded Starfleet officers and their invaluable, irreplaceable partners in this sector!”

His day was _determined_ to stay weird—wasn’t it?

* * *

**_Meetings:_ **

Montgomery Scott knew what the other cadets at Starfleet Academy said about him—that he cared more for metal and machines than other living creatures, that he could spend his life alone and be perfectly content so long as he had plenty of projects to work on—he just didn’t really care. He was the best in his field at the Academy and already better than quite a few full officer s in Starfleet, and that invited grumbling and complaints from those used to being the only competent people in the room. He didn’t go out of his way to make enemies—tried his best to do the opposite, contrary to rumor—and he _did_ like people and pokemon, he was just _so_ at home with inorganic, mechanical matters.

(Having a partner pokemon was not a _requirement_ for Academy admittance, but Scotty was one of only a handful of students without one.)

All that to say that it was not all that unusual for the second-year cadet to find himself alone in the Engineering Building late at night, working on his latest ‘pet projects’.

Only…

…Only, he wasn’t alone, if the intermittent scuffles and ‘clangs’ were any indication. At first, scotty ignored them (or, to be perfectly honest, probably didn’t hear/notice them), then he hesitated a moment, a prank of some sort being exactly the sort of thing he’d expect his fellow students to pull on him, given his ‘outsider’(-ish) status. But finally, he couldn’t restrain his curiosity and a budding feeling of what might even be concern (though he couldn’t say why) and he stood up from his work area, inching slowly in the direction the sounds seemed to be coming from.

It took him a few moments (and moving a few tables and cabinets) to reveal the source—a bedraggled and worse-for-wear single-bladed pokemon. A Honedge, but one of the must pathetic-looking Scotty had ever seen. Life in the wild (or, some trainer—which was a thought that didn’t bear thinking) had not been kind to this poor creature.

Heedless of whispered lore of ‘cursed blades’ or ‘possessed weapons’, the young cadet slowly extended is hand, palm up, towards the chipped and dented but still-floating, shivering sword. “Ah, just look at you. Who let you get into such a state? They ought to be ashamed, a beauty like you should be treated better than that.” Maybe it was the quiet voice, the gentle tone, or maybe the Honedge was simply that lonely and/or desperate, but it floated to Scotty, let him carry it to the worktable to see what could be done.

Steel-type pokemon, like many Rock-types, give experts a run for their money in determining if they are creatures or animated, inorganic constructs—they were unquestionably _alive_ , were individuals with personality, but, for instance, many did not require food (but could and would nevertheless eat favored rocks/alloys/treats) and could benefit as much form mechanical repairs as medicines—and the Ghost-type brought in its own host of issues and questions, but Scotty didn’t care: in that moment or ever, really.

After all, he’d always treated (and spoken to) engines, vehicles, and mechanical devices as living creatures (in a sense) that he was entrusted with caring for, so taking the Honedge to his work area and doing what he could to fix dents, fill cracks, and file down scratched, all the while talking to his ‘patient’ as one would to an exceptionally intelligent dog or cat?

Well maybe _he_ was strange, but he saw nothing strange about that at all.

* * *

**_(2009)_ **

From the moment he’d been assigned to the frozen wasteland of a class-M planet with no one but Keenser and Casper for company, Scotty had been concocting, envisioning, dreaming, hoping, wishing—eventually even praying for—increasingly improbable scenarios when he was finally able to _leave_. (Seems all those wise-crackers from back in the academy days were wrong—Montgomery Scott was starved for living company, the little he did have being his remaining anchor to sanity.)

Yet none of those hypothetical situations involved the destruction of a planet, two stranded Starfleet officers (One of whom was form the _future_ …or else a _really_ good liar), an impossible formula he would apparently come up with someday (except, now, he wouldn’t have to because he already knew it…no, he was _not_ going down that mental rabbit-hole/death spiral), beaming _inside_ a ship’s water pipe, a near-drowning scenario, and being taken (still dripping wet) onto the bridge just in time to see one of his new friends goad his Vulcan captain into nearly killing him in order tog et him to resign command.

No, he hadn’t gotten around to imagining _that_ one yet.

The security officer beside him tensed slightly, and Scotty followed his gaze to…oh, yeah. He’d probably better say or do something before any of these tightly-wound, very twitchy people lashed out:

Casper, like most Steel-types, did _not_ like being wet, and Scotty knew better than to recall his partner Doublade before thoroughly drying him off, so the ghost-sword was currently hovering by his shoulder, dripping, grumbling unhappily in his curious tone ( which sounded very much like metal resonating after being struck with a hammer or against something sturdy) and occasionally giving a violent shudder in an attempt to rid himself of the hated water.

Scotty knew his partner well enough after so many ears together that the sight and around were amusing, a call for care, and about as serious a threat as, say, a dog trying to guilt their family for putting them through the dreaded ordeal of bath time. But to the security team, it clearly read like nothing so much as an aggressive, battle-ready pokemon getting ready to attack.

It still surprised the Engineer that people assumed his partner was dangerous or a threat—what, just because he resembled a pair of swords, he must always be seconds away from cutting down a person or pokemon? That was almost as ridiculous as till believing those old stories about haunting and curses that _still_ followed the Ghost-type. Still, best to break the tensions first, _then_ go about correcting misconceptions.

“I _like_ this ship! Very exciting.”

* * *

**_Ordinary Days:_ **

Scotty wasn’t entirely sure why a ship’s navigator would choose to shadow the chief engineer when it wasn’t their shift on duty, but he was hardly about to turn away a pair of willing and competent hands. Besides, Chekov was a good kid—brilliant, truly eager to learn, and helpful almost to fault—so it wasn’t really a hardship having him around. (And having his Electric-type partner close to hand was useful on surprisingly frequent occasions.)

And hey: if no one else was going to step up and mentor the kid, Scotty wasn’t about to leave him hanging.

One evening in particular found the pair relaxing post-shift on one of the designated ‘lounge’ areas of the ship, chatting about this and that (but nothing of importance) when Chekov got that pensive look on his face that said whatever was coming next was a question he’d pondered for some time, but been unable to arrive at an answer to.

“Mr. Scott?”

“Aye, lad?” He’d learned it was better not to rush or press—some times, the question needed a moment to be put to words.

Chekov absently scratched the top of Kostya’s head, still not looking at the other man. “How—how long has Casper been a Doublade?”

“…Let me see…he evolved shortly after I graduated the Academy. But I’m pretty sure I wasn’t his first trainer, and anyhow, pokemon with three stages hit their first evolution a bit quicker than most two-stagers.” Scotty nodded towards the younger officer’s partner. “I wouldn’t worry, lad. It comes in time; when you’re both ready. Why look at the captain and little Esther—she’s not evolved yet, either, and they’ve been together even before he entered the Academy.”

Chekov blinked, confused, then seemed to catch what Scotty had been assuming his question had been. “What—no! I did not mean—Kostya and I are both young, yes; I am not worried. …Actually, I was curious about Casper. I know that his final stage is not one he can reach naturally…”

“And you were wondering why I haven’t made it happen, if it’s been several years?” Scotty leaned back, arms behind his head, and watched his partner bob about the room, muttering to himself in his musical ringing tone.

“Ah, yes. Yes—that was it.”

“Never saw a point in it,” Scotty admitted with a shrug. “I mean, I _can_ afford a Dusk Stone now, but it’s still a _lot_ of money. And for what? A new look? A bigger form that’ll have a harder time fitting in the nooks and crannies that I sometimes need him to? Aye, he’d be a better fighter, I’ll grant you that, but neither of us _do_ that, so it never feels worth it. I suppose it’ll be different if he ever indicates that he _wants_ to evolve again, but so far, it seems we’re both content with how things are, now.”

Question apparently answered, Chekov let the conversation drift to other topics. It was rare for Starfleet Officer’s _not_ to fully evolve their partner pokemon, but if any case and argument against doing so made sense to him, it was Scotty’s.

* * *

**_(Into the Dark)_ **

Whatever Scotty had been expecting when he reluctantly followed the coordinates his (ex-)captain had given him, a shipyard building the most obviously-built-for-war Starship he’d _ever_ seen was most definitely not in the top half of the list. This was _madness_ , this was _terrifying_ , this was the _last_ place he’d want to be caught—

—This was his chance to sneak aboard that ship.

(In hindsight, he never could adequately convey why he wanted to do so and what made him think it was even remotely a good idea. But he wanted to know _why_ and he wanted to know _how_ , and he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something important in the computer systems of the gargantuan vessel, so that’s where he was going.)

He tried to maneuver as casually as possible, pretending that this secret base was _exactly_ where he belonged in case he was spotted. He kept his distance from most people, but couldn’t help noticing the plethora of Steel- and Fighting-type pokemon accompanying their trainers. Scotty released Casper with a flick of his wrist, for once grateful for the fact that most people automatically assumed his partner was dangerous or aggressive (most of the creatures he noted in the area had similar reputations, so Casper fit right in) and, for once, almost wished that the Doublade was instead it’s stronger, more intimidating final form.

(Well, not really. That was just his fear talking. But at least being Ghost-type meant that none of the Fighting-type moves would actually connect…But still, best to avoid a battle if at all possible…)

* * *

**_(Beyond)_ **

From the moment he’d shot himself and Casper out of the dying _Enterprise_ in one of his experimental ‘escape torpedoes’, Scotty had been massively out of his element, much less his comfort zone. (Not that he was completely unused to that—he’d been on enough ‘exciting’ away missions to almost expect it, by this point.)

What he was _not_ expecting was to be plopped right back into his element before even making it off of the planet! But here he was on a (downright _ancient_ ) Starfleet vessel walking a gifted young engineer through exactly what needed to be done to get the old girl flying again (admittedly Jaylah was a strong and terrifyingly bad-ass fighter, too, but there was no denying her skill, especially given what she’d already managed to accomplish with almost nothing to work with.)

Scotty slipped into a familiar rhythm easily enough with new ally and old partner both, and it was some time before he noticed the odd looks Jaylah was giving Casper.

“What is your weapon doing, Montgomery Scotty?”

“My weapon? Casper’s no weapon, he’s my partner!” At Jaylah’s confused expression, he had to ask, “I-I’m guessing they don’t have pokemon on your home planet, then?”

“I do not know. I do not remember my home, and I do not know ‘pokemon’.”

So, as they worked, Scotty told her all about the strange and wondrous creatures, and answered her questions as best he could (though, given the sheer variety and improbability of pokemon species, he could hardly blame her for confusion or skepticism.)

Then the captain and Chekov showed up, and things started much too quickly to continue the conversation—at least, until all had reached its end…

***

“They told me it would take my edge off, but my edge is not off.”

Scotty couldn’t help but smile at the young woman as he passed her a data pad. “Well, maybe this will. It’s an acceptance letter to Starfleet Academy—if you want to go.”

Judging from how quickly Jaylah stood and how wide and eager her eyes were, that ‘if’ was merely a ‘when’. “Oh! And when you go, you better take this little one with you—they’ll be right lonely if you don’t.”

He handed her the present he’d spent most of the last few days combing _Yorktown_ for—fortunately, it was big enough that there were several pokemon breeders and labs, and Steel-types were quite common there, actually. Jaylah stared in awe a the red-and-white orb in her hands for a moment, then released its occupant: a hovering, decorative single-bladed Honedge.

“Fighting or fixing—whichever you choose—you’ll never find a better partner. Trust me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation on my thought process:
> 
> Well, you just can’t give Scotty any type but Steel-type, can you?
> 
> Honestly, I’m not really sure why I went with Doublade, other than that it’s one of my favorite Steel-types. Any other justification I could give (the idea of Scotty with an inanimate object pokemon, liking the looks-like-a-fighter-but-is-actually-a-fixer-like Scotty) I honestly came up with after the fact when I started thinking about potential dynamic once I picked which pokemon I was going to give Scotty. But having fun with your favorites is what fic is all about, isn’t it?
> 
> As I said before, I WILL finish this story before the end of the year…so look for the last two chapters coming out (should be in December, so not long, I promise!)


	6. Sulu

**_Beginnings:_ **

“It wasn’t a formal academic hearing, just a reprimand,” Hikaru Sulu assured his boyfriend over their video call that evening.

“Which means?”

“Essentially, I got called into what may as well be the principal’s office, given a slap on the wrist and warned that a second strike would go on my record.”

Ben gave a sympathetic shrug. “So…could have been worse, then?”

“I thought I was at Starfleet Academy, not back in high school!” Hikaru grumbled, still rankled by the unfairness of the whole situation. “‘Reckless endangerment’—I made _damn_ sure there wasn’t anyone around who’d get hurt.”

“Or anyone around to catch you _fighting your pokemon with a sword?_ ” At this point, Ben _wished_ he could say that he was surprised…

Hikaru spread his arms. “It was a bunt, practice sword! Other cadets play-wrestle with their partners all the time, but I can’t really do that with Amber. Besides, she loves it!”

There was an answering screech from just off-camera, then a crested red, cream, and brown Flying-Type pokemon landed on her trainer’s shoulder. Sulu reached up to scratch her neck, and Amber leaned into the touch, ruffling happily. Ben couldn’t help smiling at the pair.

“So, _and I’m not saying that you should risk it_ , but what would actually happen if a ‘reckless endangerment’ strike did go on your records?”

Hikaru’s expression darkened almost immediately. “Officially? Not much unless I end up with more than one on record. In reality? Not many captains or admirals would want me on their ship—even as a botanist.”

“Really? For one mistake when as a cadet in the academy? How does _anyone_ get onto a starship at that rate?”

“Oh, _most_ people don’t have to worry about that. _This_ is just Starfleet being stupidly paranoid about Fire-Types and their trainers. They think that we’re impulsive, dangerous idiots one angry fit away from blowing up a ship or something! I can tell you right now that they’ve lost some _damn_ good officers to their ‘unofficial policies.’”

Ben didn’t answer, but did look guiltily at the Talonflame now nudging her trainer’s hand.

“Hey—none of that,” Hikaru cut in (and it took Ben a second to realize that it was directed at _him_ and not the bird-like pokemon), “Amber’s the best partner I could’ve ever had, and I don’t care _what_ some armchair admiral has to say.”

“Unless what he has to say keeps you off of a starship and relegates you to only planet-side assignments?”

Hikaru grimaced at the mere thought. “I mean, I guess I’d care. But he’d still be wrong!”

“Well, maybe try not to give them that chance, then?”

“…Fine…”

“And, just to be clear, I am _not_ saying ‘don’t get caught next time’.”

“I know, I know.”

Ben held up his hands. “I only nag because I know how much you want to fly.”

“I know,” Hikaru smiled. “And I love you, too.”

* * *

**_Meetings:_ **

How could he be so _stupid_?

It was already going to be hard enough to navigate a long-distance relationship when he headed off to starlet Academy in a few months, but then he got the _genius_ idea to show off by taking Ben for a joyride in his family’s new flying vehicle. Why? He _knew_ that Ben wasn’t the biggest fan of speed or heights, so what had he been _thinking_?

(Honestly, he _hadn’t_ , and the lecture Hikaru got from his parents for his latest ‘daredevil stunt’ didn’t make him feel _nearly_ as worried as the message form ben asking him to meet up so they could ‘have a talk’.)

How could he be so _stupid_?

Would this be it? How badly had he messed up—had he driven Ben away for good?

“I’m sorry!” He blurted out immediately—because, wherever this conversation went, he _was_ sorry. “I was reckless and inconsiderate—”

“Yeah. Yeah, you were,” Ben admitted, but he was—smiling? “And impulsive. But you were also pretty impressive—though I would definitely have preferred more warning…and maybe a ground-side seat for the air show and cop chase. Did you get in too much trouble, by the way?”

Hikaru shrugged, internal tension only slightly lessened. “They let my parents handle it, since I _do_ have a license, no one got hurt, and it was a first offense.”

“And your parents?”

“Only things I’m grounded from are flying and driving. Somehow.”

“Well, hopefully they let up on that before you head to the Academy. Speaking of…” Ben pulled out a pokeball, holding it out. “I thought it might be good for you to have a partner there with you who’s also born to fly.”

Stunned, Hikaru took the gift, then released the ball’s occupant: a small, red-headed bird Pokemon that began to dart swiftly around his head before eventually perching on his fingers.

“I know she’s small,” Ben admitted, “But she’s supposed to grow and evolve pretty quickly—ought to hit her third stage before you graduate, and Talonflame’s are known for their skill with aerial maneuvers. It just…seemed right?”

Now it was Ben’s turn to seem nervous, hesitant, trying to read _his_ face for clues, but Hikaru wasn’t about to keep him in suspense. “She’s _perfect_.”

Ben grinned in obvious relief. “Got any name ideas?”

“Talonflame…Fire/Flying-Type…” Sulu paused a moment, then nodded: “I’ll call her Amber.”

* * *

**_(2009)_ **

Sulu was no stranger to impulsive decisions, reckless actions, or dangerous stunts—anyone who’d known the young helmsman for any length of time could attest to that—but even _he_ was hard-pressed to think of anything he’d ever done that was as life-threatening as parachuting on to a massive drill-like device with the intent to engage multiple Romulans in hand-to-hand combat, plant some explosive charges, and blow the whole damn thing up.

Still, as ever, there was no time to think, only to act and to react—cutting free of his chute before it could drag him into one of the flaming jets, and releasing Amber as he charged the nearest Romulan.

The pair were not necessarily experienced in _real_ life-or-death combat, but they had trained with (and against, in spite of the Academy reprimand) each other extensively, so the actions were familiar enough to both Pokemon and trainer: Amber darting in, her claws outstretched, digging into their foe’s face before swooping out of reach as Sulu charged in with his saber to take advantage of the enemy’s distraction. From the corner of his eye, Sulu noticed that Kirk had also released his own partner, and the other cadet and the Eevee were also tag-teaming their attacks with practiced ease.

The main difficulty was that the Romulans also had partners: Miniors, whose Rock-Typing was doubly dangerous to the Talonflame, and whose Flying-Typing meant that the one fighting move the Eevee had wouldn’t be nearly as effective as it needed to be. (And the Romulans were more than willing to take a page from their opponents’ books and pelt the two humans with bone-rattling attacks in addition to trying to drive off the other Pokemon.)

Amber and Sulu managed to trick and lure their opponents into one of the drill’s fiery jets (hot enough to disintegrate even the Minior’s stone, Sulu noticed with a sickening twist in his gut—and relief that Amber had peeled away from the blast so as not to get singed herself, even a Fire-Type could be hurt by _that_ ), and turned just in time to see a rock blast nearly send Kirk off the edge of the platform.

His Eevee partner screamed in animal fury, knocking the final Minior out with a double-kick that also launched her at the remaining Romulan. Without any verbal orders needed, Amber joined her partner in coming to Kirk—and Esther’s—aid.

…

They barely had time to breathe after the fight: improvising a means of destroying the drill, only for it all to have been in vain, for the seed of a black hole to be planted and immediately begin to grow.

Sulu stumbled, fell off the edge of the platform—only then remembering his shredded and useless chute. Instinctively, he spread his arms and legs to slow his fall—but this high up, what good would it even do?

He heard Amber screech, saw her in a dive next to him, could read the frantic worry on his partner’s face. Without a way of sending her back onto the ship, even if _she_ survived the fall without him, she would die seconds later with all the rest of Vulcan.

This time, there was no thrill, no adrenaline rush. He didn’t regret doing what he had to, but he didn’t want to die.

(Kirk had recalled his own partner and jumped after Sulu, catching him moments later. The chute snapped away under their combined weight and momentum, but that’s when the light of the transporter became visible. Desperately shifting in the other man’s grip, Sulu frantically tried to recall Amber before being pulled away—and he was pretty sure he wasn’t breathing until they reappeared on the ship and he immediately released her: saw for himself that she’d not been left behind to die.)

It was the biggest stunt he’d ever pulled—and it hadn’t been fun.

* * *

**_(Into the Dark)_ **

It wasn’t the first time that Sulu had taken the captain’s chair when both Kirk and Spock were engaged on an away mission—while it was generally inadvisable to risk both the captain _and_ the first officer like that, kirk was very much an I-won’t-ask-anyone-to-face-a-danger-I’m-not-willing-to-myself kind of a person, (and, as much as he chided the other man for it, Spick was as well), and there _was_ a chain of command aboard Starfleet vessels for a reason. So: no, this was _not_ Sulu’s first time assuming (hopefully) temporary command.

It _was_ one of the highest-pressure times, though.

He couldn’t _exactly_ hear what Dr. McCoy’s objection was as Kirk left the bridge, but he could pretty easily guess that the CMO was questioning if he had what it took to bluff and intimidate a mass-murdering madman. It was a fair question—one sulu was asking, himself.

Well, the universe wasn’t going to just give him an answer, he’d have to find it for himself.

The circumstance definitely called for some carefully thought-out pageantry, so that the mage presented supported the threat he was supposed to make, rather than detract. So, he asked bones to stand to the right of the captain’s chair and maintain a neutral expression until the transmission ended, then he released Amber (something he rarely did on the bridge, due to some of his crewmates’ tendency to be a bit jumpy around the Fire-Type, even if she didn’t have any exposed flames). She took her customary perch on his left shoulder, and he whispered to her to ‘stay and steady.’ So, she settled, alert but not tense, no twitch or ruffle, the pattern of her feathers giving the impression of a glare to her piercing gaze.

Thus flanked, Sulu schooled his own expression into the one he thought of a ‘stern-neutral’ (based heavily off of his father’s I’m-not-angry… _yet_ face), and kept his voice steady and level as he opened the channel and delivered Kirk’s message. The key was not to sound, hesitant, obviously, but it was just as important not to sound angry, either. Someone in total control of the situation didn’t _need_ to get mad, after all.

“…If you test me, you will fail.”

The transmission ended, and the charade lasted a half-second longer as Sulu felt everyone on the bridge eying him while pretending not to—he was no class/crew clown, but he was certainly known as one of the more relaxed officers, since there hadn’t been much cause to se his serious side (mask? Or was it an actual side of him, not an act? They’d be wondering, he knew—and so would he.)

It was Dr. McCoy who broke the silent tension. “Remind me not to get on _your_ bad side.”

* * *

**_(Beyond)_ **

They _couldn’t_ let Krall win.

The simple phrase had become Sulu’s mantra since first seeing the _Yorktown_ schematics during the failed breakout attempt; he didn’t even know what their captor’s plan _was_ —but if tit threatened _Yorktown_ and the people on it ( _…Ben…Demora…_ ), then they _had_ to stop him. ( _He_ had to stop him, whatever it took.)

There were still other goals, of course: he had a responsibility to the surviving crew as the ranking officer present, there had to be a chance or avenue of escape to keep an eye out for (once security relaxed again), and they had to get to the crew’s pokemon partners. (He’d spotted where they were being kept as he was dragged back to the others, so at least they hadn’t been sacrificed to those horrible draining machines…not _all_ of them, at least, not yet…Had he seen Amber’s ball? Was his partner even still alive?)

But even more than all of that was the desperate _need_ to thwart their captor’s designs for the (now) vulnerable-seeming Starbase. The crew were Starfleet officers three years into a deep-space mission, they had signed on knowing and accepting the risk to their own life and limb. But the _civilians_ (the children) on _Yorktown_ had made no such choice.

They _couldn’t_ let Krall win.

So, as Krall burst into the holding cell, roaring his demands, as he wrenched Sulu away from the others, threw him to his knees and seized the back of his head, as Sulu’s entire body was wracked with agony as his very _life_ was being siphoned into this monster (like the two security officers and their partner Machamps—drained to husks before his very eyes), even as he could not fully hold back a scream, still he accepted it, thought it a fair price to pay. ( _Better me than them—whatever it takes, **not** them._)

But a crew is a family, too, and Syl was a young ensign, likely didn’t even fully grasp what was at stake as she gave Krall exactly what he wanted. (A part of Sulu—the protective instinct of a parent—wanted to snarl and yell at her for what she’d unknowingly done, but he didn’t have the energy within him at that point. He was glad he had not, when he later learned from Uhura what happened to Syl, but int hat moment, he almost hated the poor girl.)

He forced himself to stand, refused to rest, leapt into action during the unexpected rescue (led the way to where the pokeballs had been piled, let himself have a single moment of relief when he found Amber, alive and whole), he took the helmsman’s chair rather than cede it to any other (he _had_ to stop Krall), and performed some of the riskiest flight maneuvers he’d ever _dared_ to think of, all while barely recovering, all to protect his family. (The Academy officials had only been half-right all those years ago: reckless Sulu may have been then, and sometimes still was, but the only person he’d ever willing endanger was himself.)

They _couldn’t_ let Krall win…

* * *

**_Ordinary Days:_ **

The _Enterprise_ would be rebuilt, but it would take time.

Time enough for its crew to be scattered to various interim assignments—and who could say how many of them would choose to return afterwards and how many would find that their paths now wound a different direction form the ship that they had once called ‘home’? (Sulu couldn’t imagine any other posting, personally, but knew too well how change could come when least expected.)

For now, though, he was on leave, extended well beyond normal shore leave as much in thanks for what their crew had done as to buy Starfleet time to scramble new assignments for an entire starship’s crew (well, nearly an entire crew: there had been too many included in the toast ‘to absent friends’), and he was spending it on _Yorktown_ with his family—

—with Ben, who’d had patience with him and his stunts far beyond what he’d sometimes deserved, whose unwavering support had gotten Hikaru through far more trials than he’d ever know, and who anchored the helmsman in a way he’d once not known that he needed—

—with Demora, whose smiles, laughter, and love seemed at once both the most precious and the most fragile things to her fathers, whose dreams and chatter were already filled with stars that she was determined to see—

—and with Amber, his partner, who soared above them, or perched on his shoulder, or playfully darted around Demora as the girl chased her, but who never strayed too far: the two of them determined to treasure and guard their loved ones, this family of theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation on my thought process:
> 
> Sulu was getting a flying type, of that there was no doubt. Talonflame has been one of my favorite of the bird pokemon for a while, though I’m not sure I can verbalize why, exactly. And when I thought about it, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to explore both the extent (and the limits) of Sulu’s tendency to jump into dangerous situations (volunteering for the Romulan mission, the ‘in atmosphere take-off’ from film three…)
> 
> Ended up a bit more of a character study than maybe I expected (but then again—that’s exactly what this series is supposed to be so why was I surprised?) but I greatly enjoyed writing it!
> 
> Thank you again to all of you for putting up with the sporadic/spread out posting schedule for this one, but as promised, it will finish before the end of 2020: the final chapter goes up next week!


	7. Chekov

**_Beginnings:_ **

Starfleet Academy may have been filled with future officers—the best and the brightest in their chosen fields, young men and women who would make the fleet’s tomorrow even more impressive than its today—but they were still _young_ men and women, filled with the hopes, dreams, ambitions, confidence, and energy that comes with that phase of life.

And some were even younger than that…

Pavel Andreievich Chekov had only been at the Academy for a few months, but already the young teen was growing used to the variety of reactions his presence seemed to prompt (the price he paid for starting so young that he’d be _graduating_ at the same age that most people _entered_ the Academy): some seemed impressed, some mystified, some even jealous, and few, if any, seemed capable of carrying on a normal conversation with him (the closest most came was slipping into an ‘older sibling’ sort of dynamic, which he didn’t _mind_ , per se, but it wasn’t the same things a friend). Frankly, he was just grateful that they’d managed to find a cadet’s uniform that actually fit him, otherwise he knew that he’d be constantly mistaken for someone’s visiting younger brother.

But today was not a day for any of those thoughts: the good or the bad. Today was a day of good weather and no classes or looming projects, so the thirteen-year-old knew _exactly_ how he was going to spend it: with his partner, Kostya.

…

The little Yamper was an absolute ball of energy—as were most young Electric-Types—and raced around his feet, yapping and jumping, as soon as he was released. Pavel grinned at his partner before pulling out Kostya’s favorite toy: a red-and-gold ball already showing tooth marks and electric burns a few weeks after first seeing use. The little Electric-Type dog went _nuts_ , standing on his hind legs, front paws beating at the air before he overbalanced and tumbled onto his back. Kostya scrambled upright, who body trembling and little sparks running through his fur already.

Pavel tossed the toy and Kostya was after it in an instant—fast for his squat, short-limbed build, if slow and clumsy for the Electric-Type, then came racing back, prize clamped proudly in his jaws. But rather than drop it for another throw (or make Pavel wrestle it from him, as he sometimes did), Kostya didn’t stop running, instead launching himself up at his trained while still holding the ball.

Pavel wasn’t quite expecting a full-speed Yamper to the chest, and it caught him off-guard, knocking him to the ground as Kostya barked happily (dropping the ball), then began licking the boy’s face. (There were little static shocks, yes, as the young pokemon was not yet in full control of its abilities, but nothing dangerous: his hair would likely be on end for the rest of the day, little else.)

Laughing, he managed to grab a hold of Kostya and sit up, but he couldn’t help flushing in embarrassment when he saw a group of second- and third-year female cadets walk by, giggling and murmuring ‘aw’ to each other.

(He loved his partner, and loved to play, but he’d also like to be taken seriously…someday…)

* * *

**_Meetings:_ **

Pavel’s family was large, loving, and _loud_ —and they weren’t about to let their little prodigy go off to Starfleet Academy (four years early!) without a _proper_ celebratory send-off.

The party was colorful, chaotic, and so quintessentially _them_ , but that almost made it harder on the young teen, with his nerves mounting every moment and no clear words for the storm of emotions he was feeling. This was his _home_ but the Academy—Starfleet—was his _dream_ and was he really ready to trade one for the other so soon? Or what if he failed out and had to come back after everyone was so excited for him, had invested so much in him going?

Before he could really begin spiraling, however, his parents and younger sisters pulled him aside, away from the storm of aunts, uncles, cousins, and individuals who were considered family but may or may not be actual blood relatives. Then, in a quiet corner at last, they handed him a small package.

“From all of us,” his father said with a smile as Pavel unwrapped the small box.

“Yeah!” chirped his youngest sister as he pulled out the red-and-white ball. “We didn’t want you to be lonely without us!”

“Lonely? I was looking forward to the peace and quiet!” he teased, ruffling her hair before releasing his new partner—

“Yamp!” Yamp!”

“I know he’s small now,” his mother hastily broke in, “but that way he won’t be as much trouble in the dorms. And when he’s all grown—”

She didn’t even have to finish, as he was familiar with the line: he could picture the Boltund this Yamper would someday be, mature and impressive and dignified as it paced alongside its trainer (it was a little tricky to picture his adult self—hadn’t even yet settled on whether he would go science or command track—but surely he’d be confident and capable and not at all homesick).

“I love him; he’s perfect,” Pavel declared, and as one the family cluster moved in for a group hug—which Kostya quickly wriggled his way into the middle of, already knowing that this was his family, too.

* * *

**_(2009)_ **

Things had been happening quickly since the moment they’d received Vulcan’s first distress call and had been dispatched in the fledgling fleet—hardly the first day that they’d expected, but _exactly_ the sort of situation that they’d been trained for.

But then—

Then the _Enterprise_ , delayed in her launch by a (miraculous) beginner error, arrived not on a battlefield, but a graveyard. Pavel could _feel_ the realization ripple across the bridge that the only surviving members of that year’s graduating class were the ones aboard this single vessel—the flagship, yes, but now it seemed too small, it’s crew far too few to be the only ones alive…

But there was no time to mourn the dead with the fate of a planet—a people—hanging on their next acts, and captain Pike wasted no time in dispatching a crew to the drill while going himself to negotiate (or try to) with the strange Romulans, leaving Lt. Commander Spock in charge.

As he sat in the Navigator’s seat, Chekov did everything in his power _not_ to squirm or fidget as adrenaline and tension mounted without release. He focused on the feed they were getting from Kirk and Sulu, wondering if this _vibrating_ energy begging for an outlet was how Kostya felt all the time. (It certainly would explain the Yamper’s constant running, jumping, and otherwise frantic movements.) Still, there was nothing to do but put all his focus on _not_ seeming like an antsy child.

Then, then—there was something he could do! “I can do that!” The cry tore from him without thought; without waiting for permission, he sprang from the navigator’s seat and launched himself full-speed from the bridge, entirely focused on being _helpful_ , on being _useful_ , on _contributing_ (on saving two of his classmates—two of the few that’d learned to treat him the same as the rest of their peers, and not simply as ‘the gifted kid’.)

Kostya had been dashing after him from the moment he’d gone into motion, but as fast as the Electric-Type was for his size and build, his legs were too short and his paws didn’t have the best traction on the ship’s slick flooring. He tried to keep pace with his racing trainer, but ultimately fell further and further behind. Still, he kept trying, even as he skittered around corners and slammed into walls, a surprisingly determined expression on the normally-silly face, as if the Pokemon _knew_ the intensity and stakes of the moment.

Chekov felt bad for running ahead of his loyal partner, but lives were on the line and he could help and he did help! Only…Only, moments later, when he tried to help again, he—

Failed.

Suddenly, the word was so much worse than a flunked test (that could probably be retaken or else made up for) or even the idea of not being enough, of having to go back home—he’d failed, and now someone was _dead_ because of him.

(Spock’s _mother_ was dead and Chekov was terrified to even imagine what that loss felt like, and it was _his_ fault, _he_ was to blame: he’d caught Sulu and Kirk, mid free-fall, so why couldn’t he have caught _her_ and saved her, too? Had—had he _killed_ her? Of course he had: her blood was on his hands, why had he thought he belonged in Starfleet…)

In the ensuing chaos, no one looked for him for a while; no one noticed him ducking into an alcove just around the corner from the transporter room, shaky legs unable to carry him much further.

No one saw the exhausted, stumbling Yamper, ears drooping, worm his way into his trainer’s arms and gently lick at the silent tears, offering what comfort he could—they both had tried so hard, only to fail today.

Could they do better tomorrow?

* * *

**_(Into the Dark)_ **

He was _not_ ready for this: shadowing Scotty in engineering during his downtime was one matter, but being asked to run the department at the drop of a hat was another—but Kirk was in a strange mood, Starfleet headquarters had been attacked, and Mr. Scott had just walked away from his beloved ship. Nothing made sense in that moment, so Chekov accepted the new position with minimal process.

He and Kostya were a well-known enough sight in Engineering, at least, the crewmembers he’d worked alongside and learned from made no protest at his appointment (at least, to his face), and he knew enough of what ordinary operations were supposed to look like not to interfere (he hoped—oh, how he hoped.)

Only…

Only things didn’t stay ‘normal’ or ‘ordinary’ for long. Of course they didn’t— _nothing_ about this whole mission was ‘normal’ or ordinary’.)

At once, he couldn’t afford to stay in the background and let them keep to routine: all hands were needed, and someone needed to be aware of all the various aspects of the unfolding emergency. ( _He_ needed to be aware—that’s what being the ranking officer meant…)

It felt like he was running everywhere: from that crew here, to that update to the captain there, catching someone as they slipped, grabbing that piece there before it fell. Kostya had likewise sprung into action, long since having learned to respond to the (once-joking) call of ‘I need a jump over here!’ (There was a reason that Electric-Types were second only to Steel-Types in the hearts of most engineers.)

And the _Enterprise_ was falling, listing onto her side (and they could _feel_ that, so the artificial gravity was failing as well—too close to the planet: god, there was so much going on and he didn’t know how to _fix_ it all!) But Mr. Scott and the Captain were _back_ and they were _coming_ , he could _see_ them, they would _help_ —

Then they fell, they were _falling_! Kirk had grabbed Scotty and the railing, but his grip was slipping—

Chekov leapt forward, grabbing his captain’s wrist with both hands as the weight of both men sent him crashing into the guard rail, the air forced out of his lungs by the impact, but he _wouldn’t_ let go, he _couldn’t_ let go, they were _counting_ on him!

(Kostya had sunk his teeth into the cuff of Chekov’s pants, little paws skittering on the walkway as he did his best to help his trainer—giving no less than his all, as ineffective as it might seem: and wasn’t that exactly what the pair of them had been doing this whole time?)

But Kirk and Mr. Scott were _here_ , back on the platform and _safe_ , and surely they knew what the problem was, surely they could fix it—

—

—surely everything would be alright?

* * *

**_(Beyond)_ **

Chekov was young, but he was no fool—he’d seen the way that Kalara sneered at him and Kostya for the one half-second before her mask was back in place, pleading with Kirk for her life and telling them of her hostage crew. It was _possible_ that her disdain was merely dismissing him and his partner as ‘young’ and ‘useless’ (as many seemed to assume the two ideas went together) without actually being an enemy—and he could have brushed it off, having learned over the last few years that desperately trying to prove himself capable to everyone around him often only accomplished the opposite effect.

But though Captain Kirk holstered his phaser and feigned some acceptance, Chekov knew his captain well enough to know that he still did not trust the woman—so neither would he.

(With the rest of the crew still missing, he was the only help the captain had, so he had to be alert, ready.)

And so, through the trek to the ruined _Enterprise_ (and how it _hurt_ to see her in such a state), Chekov watched everyone in their little group carefully—Kirk for any sign or signal, Kalara for a single hint of treachery, even Esther and Kostya, who were both uncharacteristically tense.

(Their ‘guest’ didn’t ever give him so much as a passing glance unless some stumble or movement drew her attention, and Chekov used both of these facts: to observe unobserved and to make it easier for her to dismiss him as ‘bumbling’ and ‘inexperienced’—why not play a little into the impression she’d already fallen for?)

By the time that they’d made it to the bridge, he’s noticed the shift in Esther and more so in Kostya—the Yamper communicating very clearly to his trainer that knew him so well that _none_ of them trusted the woman: an enemy was among them, there was no doubt.

Still, he feigned calm and waited until she follower Kirk off of the bridge, then he set off after her, phaser in hand and Kostya at his side.

They arrived _just_ in time (and a part of him did revel in the surprise in her eyes that the ‘young fool’ had caught her off-guard). In the scuffle that followed, she feinted—starting to run away, then leaping straight at _him_.

He fired—missed his first shot—but Kostya was already in motion, a bolt of lightning knocking into the enemy and throwing her off just in time for a second phaser blast from his trainer.

Then Kirk’s hand was on his shoulder, dragging him into a run as the sounds of more enemies approaching echoed own the ship’s corridors. (As they did, both men recalled their partners simultaneously—the Eevee and Yamper were perceptive, capable, and perfectly in tune with their trainers…but both were short-limbed and just too slow for the chase now beginning…)

* * *

**_Changes:_ **

Once again, Pavel found himself surrounded by a large, loud, and loving family of people throwing him a farewell party.

Once again, he found himself caught between eagerness for what was ahead—the next step on his path, the next adventure—and the- the _home_ he was leaving behind.

But that was just it—wasn’t it? He’d done this before, and survived it. He’d been homesick, then he’d found a new home; he’d failed sometimes, but he’d gotten back up again and gone on to succeed; he’d been so afraid of being dismissed as a child, but one day he’d looked around and realized that he’d grown into his own man, after all. Yes, he would miss the _Enterprise_ and her crew, but he knew that a part of them would always come with him to his next assignment—and to each one after that, too.

And, he knew that he was not going alone, was not the only one who’d grown during their time aboard the _Enterprise_ —

Kostya, recently evolved and standing tall and proud, stayed by his Trainer’s side during the party, tail slowly wagging the whole time. He was still an energetic and friendly pokemon, but less clumsy and harder to ignore or dismiss.

Chekov was struck then by the thought: that _this_ was the moment that he’d pictured, way back at that first party, when his family had given him Kostya, the moment he’d tried so hard and long to clearly visualize without any real idea of who he’d be, what it’d _really_ mean.

And now, here he was—ready to begin his next adventure, to pursue yet anther future he couldn’t yet see clearly.

He couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief explanation on my thought process:
> 
> Electric-type had seemed like a no-brainer for movie-verse Chekov, and I liked the idea of a two-stage pokemon to show the contrast between where Chekov starts and ends the trilogy (with a focus on growing up and what does and doesn't change). Funnily enough though, it wasn’t originally a Yamper that was going to be his partner: I started jotting ideas for this fic down before the Galar region ever existed, so by the time I actually got around to writing it, I had a lot of new options to choose from! (And, of course, the perfect pokemon for this chapter now exists, so I dropped the Electrike/Manectric idea I’d had originally and never looked back…)
> 
> Well, thank you to everyone who saw this fic through to the end (or poked their heads in one or twice for a quick glance)! I know the posting schedule hasn’t been the most conducive to consistent reading, so hopefully now that it’s all finished, it’ll be easier. But thank you to everyone who’s given it even a sliver of their time, every hit, kudos, or comment means more than I can say!


End file.
